


A Pastiche Life

by WhittyOne



Series: Pastiche Series [2]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub, Erotica, F/M, Fertility Issues, Graphic Sexual Content, NSFW, Romance, Shameless Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 04:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 177,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2415332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhittyOne/pseuds/WhittyOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What exactly does happily ever after look like?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tom had been gone for a little more than an hour when the doorbell chimed.  I’d been expecting it since the night before, but I still twitched in my seat at the sound.  Putting my mug down on the coffee table, I pushed myself up from the corner of the sofa and padded barefoot to the door, pushing my hair back from my brow as I twisted the knob.  The frosty January air hit my face in a welcome, gasp-inducing blast, and I smiled weakly at the shivering bundle on the step.  “Get in here before you freeze…”

Emma didn’t need a repeat of the invitation; she bustled through door, pulling her knit cap off her honey-blonde head and shaking a flurry of snowflakes to the floor.  “I can’t feel my toes,” she giggled as she unbuttoned her coat and un-noosed herself from her scarf.  “Fire’s going, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” I helped her hang her winter gear on the rack by the door.  “Tea’s on as well.”

“Brilliant sissy,” she placed a frigid peck to my cheek before toddling to the living room.  She toed off her boots at the fireplace and sank into the armchair, propping her fleece-covered feet on the hearth.  “So,” she reached for the fuller of the two mugs, wrapping her hands around its belly to soak in the heat.  “Tell me.” 

I plucked the piece of letterhead from the end table and handed it to her before slipping back into the cushions I’d just left.  I passed a shaking hand over my face as her eyes skimmed the text, her sunny expression clouding quickly.  “No… No!  They’ve got to be joking…”  She glanced up in time to see two more wretched tears slip down my cheeks.  “Michelle…”

I shrugged, throwing my hands up helplessly.  “I don’t get it either,” I sniffled.  “We’ve done everything Mathilda recommended.  We’ve double-insured ourselves and the property, I’ve secured a three book deal with Doubleday, and between RADA, the BBC, and the West End, Tom can easily line up local work for two years, maybe three.  We’ve taken the classes, we’ve turned in more than a dozen recommendations, and our portfolio…” I blushed a little, but Emma twirled her fingers in an urging “go on” gesture.  “Well, between the investments Michael’s made with my trust and Tom’s earnings,” I chewed on my lower lip.  “Let’s just say we’d have plenty of time to figure out a plan B should the work dry up.”  I buried my head in my hands.  “Jesus, Em, we’ve been at this for close to a year.  Two different lawyers, three different agencies. And now… another rejection…”  My throat locked under the weight of my grief, and I wrapped my arms around myself.  I gave in to the flow of misery, weeping softly into my sleeves.  “Thousands of kids that need good homes… and it seems like every week there’s some new cover story about some celebrity snatching one up.  Hell, there are people out there that have a goddamn collection!”  I closed my eyes as I remembered how Tom’s face broke apart under the weight of the words on the page. “Tom and I just want one…”

It was at that moment that I realized something was off.  I’d expected Emma to fly to my side, to wrap her arms around me in her sweet, supportive way, to offer soothing words of comfort and confidence.  But she hadn’t.  Lifting my head, I swiped at my sopping cheeks before focusing my gaze on her once more.  And what I saw nearly stopped my heart.

She was perched on the edge of her seat, her feet bouncing an impossible rhythm against the floor.  Her hands had set her mug aside and were now clasped tightly on her knees, like a child at prayer.  And her face… Hope and anticipation and excitement and fear in shining blue eyes and wind-flushed cheeks.  “Oh, Michelle… Michelle,” her voice was little more than a squeak.  “Are you saying…?  Is it… maybe…?”

I breathed a shuddering sigh.  “Em… if you meant what you said… _really_ meant what you said…”  I swallowed audibly.  “I think we need to have a talk with your brother…”

I didn’t quite hear the sound she made before she vaulted herself out of her chair and into my arms, but I’m pretty sure the whole of London’s canine population did.  Laughing and crying, she rocked me crazily in her embrace, gushing endlessly, words I couldn’t always completely discern: “Oh, my God… So exciting!  Tom’s going to go mad… I need to see the doctor!  Should I start the vitamins now, you think? I mean, you can never be too healthy too early, right?   Oh, Michelle… so fantastic… finally time…!”

“Hey, little brat,” I took her face in my hands.  “Slow down.  This is just one step… and we don’t have any idea if Tom’s even going to want to take the next one.”

“Of course he will, Michelle, of course he will!  Oh, my God!  He’s going to be a daddy!  You’re going to be a mummy! And me… well… I’m just going to go down as the greatest auntie in the history of the world, right?”

I stared, incredulous, into her unflaggingly certain china doll eyes.  “You are nuts,” I sighed at last.  “Certifiable.”

“I am,” she giggled.  “Oh, Michelle, I really am.  I’m crazy about this idea; you’d better believe that…”

*          *          *          *          *          *          *

We were busy in the kitchen when the purr of the Jag echoed from the garage.  Emma shot me a look of pure delight, eyes wide, lips pursed.  “Simmer down,” I chided, taking a deep swallow from my wine glass.  “He was not in the best mood when he left… and at the least, he’s had a very long day.  We need to feed him first, before...”I trailed off, almost afraid to say anything more.

She nodded at me, so animated her hair bounced against her shoulders.  “Right!  Patience… no problem. I’ll just go set the table…”

She scurried into the dining room and I heard the front door close.  And then, his voice, weary but unbroken.  “Em?  Thanks for not blocking me out, but the salters are down the block.  You should pull into the drive.”  Strong arms encircled me from behind, an icy cold kiss burrowed into the crook of my neck.  “Hello my beautiful girl…”

I sighed, still so in love, and turned in his embrace.  “Hi there.” 

Crystals of fresh snowfall sparkled in his short golden curls, and he smelled of crisp winter wind.  He was still wrapped in his thick wool peacoat, his throat hidden by his cashmere scarf.  His eyes and lips curled at the corners, and the chilly tip of his nose grazed my cheek.  “Give me your mouth,” he growled softly, and giggling, I obeyed.  I could taste coffee and caramel on his tongue.

“I left you badly this morning,” he mused quietly when we parted.  “I’m so, so sorry.”

I shook my head, stroking the short, silky hair at the base of his skull.  “Stop,” I whispered.  “Kiss me again and we’re even.”  He smiled gratefully before sealing his lips over mine once more.

Emma popped back into the kitchen, stopping short and blushing adorably.  “Whoops… sorry…”

“No worries, brat,” he grinned, lunging to bundle her against the last bit of cold that clung to his coat as she squealed in protest.  “Give me your keys,” he sniffed after letting her go.

“Tom,” she scoffed.  “I can move my own car…”

“Not in your sock feet, you can’t,” he chided, waggling his fingers in a “gimme” fashion.  “I’ll move the car.  You?  Pour my wife another glass of wine,” he winked.  “I like her nice and pliant…”

“Like _that’s_ what you need to get her to submit to your wicked wiles…” She teased.  “Just pull out the cuffs if she’s too much a handful…”

“Um, excuse me,” I interrupted, blushing furiously.  “I am standing right here…”

  “Don’t be green, Em,” Tom grinned as if I hadn’t spoken a word.  “I’m sure she’d be happy to teach you a thing or two, if you ever wanted to broach the subject with Seb…”

“Uh, hello?” I planted my hand on my hip.  “I’m not teaching anybody anything, and can we please change the subject?”

“Not all women have the guts that your wife does, big brother.”  Emma chided playfully.  “And even if I were so inclined, I don’t know that Seb has the right level of… physical stamina… Seriously, is that all you two do when you’re together?”

“Okay, this conversation?” I threw my hands up between the two of them.  “Is officially over.  You,” I gestured at Emma.  “Keys.  You?”  I pointed at Tom.  “Car.”

They blinked at each other, the perfect affectation of sibling unity.  “I thought you got to be the bossy one,” Emma mused, breezing past me.  “And you, acting all blushy and shy… you wrote a book about this stuff, you do remember that, right?”

“Are those the only parts you read?” I scoffed back as Tom, laughing, drew me back into his arms. I resisted his kisses as he peppered them over my cheeks, down my jaw, melting only when his teeth scraped the hollow beneath my ear.

“How long has she been here?” He asked quietly when he lifted his head once more.

“Most of the day,” I confirmed.

“Did she get you out and about?”

I nodded.  “Some shopping… girl stuff…”

“Good,” he hummed.  “I’m glad you weren’t alone.”

“Me, too,” I managed before his mouth stopped my words.

A jangle of keys.  “Oh, my God, that _is_ all you do when you’re together…”

I hadn’t realized how famished I was until we actually sat down at the table, and Emma’s light-hearted chirping was the perfect complement to the meal.  Tom and I listened, grinning at story after story about her theater group, her last disastrous film audition, a promising lead with the BBC.  “Ben’s been such a generous sponsor,” she sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear.  “I really can’t thank him enough.”

“I know a way you could thank him,” I offered naughtily over my wine glass.  Emma blanched, and Tom threw his napkin at me in shocked affront.

“That’s my baby sister,” he scowled.

“What?” I raised an eyebrow.  “Like you both haven’t thought it at one point or another.”  I let silence hang in the air, then leaned back a bit in my chair, lifting my bare feet into Tom’s lap.  “I bet Ben has exactly the… physical stamina… to make any number of scenarios enjoyable.”  Emma hid behind her hands and I laughed in delight, watching Tom’s expression soften as he wrapped his long fingers around my ankles.

“It’s good to see that again,” he whispered, his thumbs massaging gently at my legs.  I smiled through tight lips as he turned to Emma with a sigh.  “She told you, yes?  About our latest,” he swallowed hard.  “Hurdle?”

Emma sat suddenly straighter in her chair, and every hair on my body followed her lead.  “She… she did.”

Tom shook his head sadly, reaching for his glass with one hand while the other gripped me just a bit tighter.  “I don’t understand it, Em,” he sighed, taking a few deep swallows.  “It just doesn’t make sense to me.”  He ran his fingers through his curls.  “Adoption just fits.” He looked at me dejectedly.  “We’re young, we’re healthy… successful… ridiculously happily married…”  I dropped my hand to twine my fingers through his, and he pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist.  “I started turning down work abroad to stay closer to home, and Michelle only ever travelled so she could be with me.  Media attention was never a huge problem, but we’ve managed to scale our press presence down to almost nothing.  Jesus, even the social media rampage is down to a dull roar, me being an old married man and all that.  And Michelle…”  He shook his head again, tipping his glass and draining it dry.  “You know, Mattie swore up and down that our open disclosure about our… private interests… had nothing to do with decisions being made against our favor.  Even still, Michelle backed off the subject, cancelled two different pieces she’d been approached to write,” he squeezed my hand.  “And I don’t know how many speaking opportunities you’ve declined. I was so sure…”  He paused, a watery exhale shuddering through his chest.  “I was so sure we’d have all this squared away by now.  I was so sure we’d have…” The words died on his lips, and I choked back a tiny sob.  He squeezed my hand again, and I managed a small smile.  “About the only thing I’m sure of now,” he shrugged despondently.  “Is that I have no idea what to do next.”

Emma and I locked eyes, and after a deep breath, I nodded.  “Well, Tom,” she shifted in her seat, leaning in on her elbows.  “Maybe I can help with that…”

His wide, cerulean eyes never left her face as she spoke, quiet, calm.  Many of the words I’d heard before, tucked under the covers in her mother’s guest room, tears streaking my face as my wedding gown hung silently in the background.  I’d retrieved the card she’d given me from the memory box I kept in the top of the closet, the photograph still tucked safely inside.  She now fidgeted with it as she outlined her proposal to try and accommodate the one miracle I’d been certain would always lie just beyond our grasp, pushing it across the table when her piece was finally spoken.  Only then did Tom release my hand, slipping the card from the envelope and examining it with the neutrality that comes with surreal disbelief. 

He turned briefly to me. “Five years,” he murmured.  “You never said a word…”

“Oh, God, Tom, don’t be angry with her!” Emma gushed desperately.  “I asked her not to, I _told_ her not to! I didn’t want it to overshadow the start of your new life…  I didn’t want either of you to feel pressured!  Didn’t want you taking any measures until you were both certain you were ready…God, please don’t be angry…”

“I’m not angry,” he said softly, reaching out to wipe away the tear that slid down my cheek.  “I’m quite the opposite of angry.” I closed my eyes briefly, leaning into his palm.  When I opened them again, he’d moved closer to me, his head slightly bowed.  “I can’t imagine you’d let her bring this up,” he took a deep, hopeful breath.  “If you didn’t feel you wanted… that is, if you weren’t thinking that maybe…”  He stammered a bit and I shifted my chair, opening my posture to him completely and taking both his hands in mine.

“What we’re talking about here… It’s a nightmare,” I told him quietly.  “Do you understand that?  A nightmare that would completely take over our entire life.” I shuddered a sigh.  “The one thing that I hate thinking about most of all becomes the singular focus of almost every day for six to twelve weeks.  Six to twelve weeks of being poked and prodded and scanned and analyzed.  Doctor’s appointments, and more doctors’ appointments.   I’d have to go back on the pill, and it didn’t always agree with me before.  Blood tests.    Daily hormone injections.  Mood swings.  Periods of forced abstinence.   And absolutely no guarantee that we walk away with a baby at the end of it all.” 

Tom nodded morosely, his shoulders slumping as every word sank in and took hold.  After a heartbeat of silence, I reached out and lifted his chin, bringing his gaze back to mine.

“Let’s give it a try.”


	2. Chapter 2

 I was seated at my vanity, brushing out my hair, when Tom glided into the bedroom.  His cheeks were flushed with hope and excitement and the chill of the evening winter breeze.  “She make it out okay?” I asked as he leaned over to wrap his arms around my shoulders.  He hummed affirmation into my skin before biting gently at the curve of ligament where my neck met my shoulder. I closed my eyes, leaning into his warm, well-muscled chest.

“We’re going to have a baby…” He whispered against my ear.

“Tom,” I turned abruptly in his arms.  “Don’t… don’t do that yet, please.  I need you to focus here, sweetie.  In vitro…”  A thousand facts and figures and statistics buzzed through my brain at once, but I could tell from the dreamy, hopeful look in his eyes that, spoken aloud, they would only be white noise.  “It’s really fucking hard.  And there is absolutely no guarantee that it’s going to work.  People try for years and years and never get lucky…”

“But we might,” he grinned, tickling his lips against mine.

“We might,” I gently pushed him away, rising from my chair.  “But the odds are really, really against it.”

He rose as well, trapping my body in the circle of his arms.  “We’ve beaten the odds before,” he purred, leaning in to nibble at my earlobe.

“All the more reason to believe we’re in for some karmic balance here,” I chided, trying weakly to extract myself from his embrace and failing.  “Seriously… Tom…” I shivered as his tongue played teasingly over the shell of my ear.  “There is no guarantee that we’re getting a baby out of this…”

“Oh, but love, just the fact that you’re willing to try…” He nipped at the corner of my jaw.  “That you’ve opened yourself up to the possibility…”  His fingers slid up into my hair, pulling my head back gently but firmly, exposing my throat.  “That you’re going to go through this nightmare with me… _for_ me… after opposing it for so long…”  He closed his lips over my pulse point, sucking until my knees trembled and I swayed against him.  “Jesus, I’m so fucking hard right now…”

“That’s another thing!”  I finally succeeded in pushing him to arm’s length.  “No sex, Tom.  No sex.  For days. Weeks, maybe, depending on how fucked up my hormone cycles are, and how gross and disgusting this whole process makes me feel.  I don’t know if I’m even allowed to…” I groped for words.  “Self-soothe…”

“Well, then,” he grinned devilishly.  “We’d better get it all in now before we get started.”  He yanked me close once more, and I giggle-moaned as his hands slid down my body, gripping my buttocks and pushing his erection against my belly.

“Tom,” I whined, wanting nothing more than to melt into the debauchery of his mouth and hands and fingers, needing to resist until I knew he’d heard me as best he could.  “Please… please… be serious with me for just another minute.”  His eyes found mine, clear and focused, and I caressed his jaw with my palm.  “Everything changes, sweetie,” I murmured, my fingers tracing the sandpaper stubble.  “Everything.”

He nodded, breathing deeply.  “I know, love,” he affirmed.  “I know.”

“You do?” My voice begged reassurance.  “You really do?  No half-measures, Tom.  If we don’t do this all the way, we fail before we start.”

“I know, Michelle.”  Finally, I saw the weight of our future settle on his brow, and while I mourned putting it there, I knew I couldn’t carry it alone.  “No half-measures.”

“And you’re sure you want to do this?”

He nodded, his eyes swirling with hope and love and trepidation and excitement.  “I’d walk through fire for you, sweet.”

“Oh, Hiddleston,” I pressed my body closer to his at last.  “You’re going to,” I sucked sweetly on his lower lip.  “With blue balls at that…”

My breath left my lungs in a squeal as he swept me off the floor, the growl in his throat vibrating through me as his mouth clamped down on my neck once more.  “I’d tie you to the bed,” he rasped against my ear.  “If I wasn’t so fucking set on feeling those talented little hands wrapped around my cock.”

“I don’t know, Tom,” I batted my lashes at him as I palmed the rigid muscle through his fly.  “There’s a lot of jerking off in your future… You sure that’s what you want right now?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he chuckled, nipping at my lips.  “I need something wickedly sweet to visualize now, don’t I?”  With that, he released me, backing up to sit on the bed, legs akimbo, his hand stroking his neck through the open buttons at his collar.  “Be a good girl,” he rumbled with a grin.   “Take your clothes off for me.”

Biting my lip coyly, I lifted my hands to the buttons of my blouse, freeing them slowly, sensually, from top to bottom.  By the time I reached the third, Tom’s fingers were mirroring my own, unbuttoning his oxford and letting it fall open at his sides.  I held the lapels of my shirt closed as I descended; only offering the occasional tiny glimpse of purple lingerie or pale skin.  “Oh, that’s new,” he smiled when I finally let the garment slide down my arms to the floor, revealing the elegant framework of lace and silk underneath.  “A matched set?”   He eyed the zipper of my jeans hungrily.  I nodded, and his chuckle filled the air.  “You’ll be keeping those on tonight, love.”  He licked his lips.  “Show me the rest.”

I slipped my fingers into my waistband, flicking the snap open with ease.  I didn’t pull the zipper down; rather, I caught the edges of the vee and pulled them wide, revealing a lacy purple triangle centimeter my delicious centimeter.  He could see my bare skin through the tiny eyelets and his grin widened.  “Freshly waxed?”  I nodded again, quirking my own naughty smirk, and he groaned.  “You’re going to be the death of me…”

“You’ll go with a smile,” I blinked innocently.

“Shit-eating grin is more like it,” he chortled.  “Get those jeans off and get over here… give me some relief.”

I obeyed, pushing the denim aside before padding on tiptoe to the space between his legs.  I sank to my knees on the carpet and leaned over his thighs, offering him a generous view of my cleavage as I unbuckled his belt.  His sigh was audible when I popped the button at his waist and unzipped his fly; his cotton boxer briefs were already wet above his leaking slit.  I eased them, along with his trousers, down his legs as he tossed his shirt to the floor beside the bed.  “Touch me, love,” he urged in a whisper.

Smiling up at him from beneath the fringe of my bangs, I wrapped my fingers around the base of his shaft, relishing his hiss of delight as I stroked, long and firm, from root to crown.  Precum dripped over the flushed skin of his exposed head; I swirled my palm around it, the slipperiness of my touch making his hips buck into my hand.  “Fuck, that’s good,” he gasped.  “Those strong little fingers… Jesus, Michelle… my good girl…”   
  
I shivered at the endearment and gave him an affectionate tug that made his head fall back on his neck.  I slid my grasp over him with just enough tension to keep his body twitching beneath my hand, up and down, slow, coaxing caresses. Leaning back briefly against the mattress, his long arm pulled open the bedside drawer, snagging the bottle of lubricant from inside.  Taking it from him, I snapped open the lid and held it above him, letting it rain slowly down over his length in cool, teasing drips.  “Fucking brilliant,” he breathed as the wet sound of his flesh moving slickly in my grip filled the air.  My own body picked up the cue, and I felt the strip of silk between my thighs soak through after just a few beats of my racing heart.  My free hand slipped down to press against my slowly swelling clit, until Tom briskly clicked his tongue at me.  “Uh-uh, sweetheart,” he chided with a shake of his head.  “None for you yet…”

I pouted my lip, my hand slowing.  “Tom…”  


“Don’t whinge at me like that, love,” he scolded lightheartedly.  “You know better by now.”  It amazed me how he could keep his eyes so clear, his tone so calmly commanding, even as I knelt between his legs, my fingers still absently playing around his cock.  “You yourself said… what was it?  Oh, yes… no self-soothing.  Isn’t it better to practice now, when your reward will come much quicker, much easier?”  I furrowed my brow, and he burst out laughing.  “There’s the look…”

I scowled harder, flicking my thumb over the sensitive divot below his tip.  “What look?”

“The look that says, in spite of your pouty little nature, you know I’m right.”  He took my face in his hands and closed his teeth carefully on my bottom lip, tugging it gently before kissing me deeply enough to make my toes curl against the carpet.  “Delayed gratification, love,” he purred against my mouth.  “Good for the soul.”

I let my pout linger just a moment longer.  “When do _I_ get to be the one teaching _you_ this lesson?”

He snickered a little.  “There’s no topping me, love.  However,” he leaned over to land a quick slap to my ass.  “I do love setting you straight when you try.”

“I hate you,” I smiled, knowing he knew I meant the contrary.

He smacked my ass again anyway, forcing a yelp from my throat.   “I love you,” he grinned, leaning back on his elbows.  “Now pull me off like a good girl, and maybe I’ll let you have my tongue as well as my cock…”

Adjusting my knees against the carpet, I tightened my hand around him once more, giving him a slow, sweet yank.  After a few strokes, I anchored my grip at the base of his cock, using my other hand to swirl lazily around the tip.  He lay back, his eyes closed, hands groping rhythmically at the linens at his sides.  Before long, all I had to do was keep tension in the circle of my fingers as he arched off the bed again and again, wantonly fucking my fists.  He groaned my name over and over, the caress of his tongue around the “elle” making me squirm and press my thighs together for relief. 

Spurred on by his enjoyment, I leaned close, tracing my tongue over the soft, sensitive flesh of his balls before sucking first one and then the other carefully into my mouth.  His eyes snapped open and he scrambled upright for a better view.  “Fucking hell… sweet girl… you’re going to make me come so hard… you know that, right?  Of course you do… my Michelle… my naughty little minx… Oh, Jesus _Christ_ …”  He sat straighter, one hand sliding into my hair while the other grasped his shaft.  “Let me decorate you, love…”  I shivered, closing my teeth on my bottom lip as he pulled my head back, arching my body to his desire.  He stroked furiously, his eyes fixed on his twitching head.  His mouth fell open as his breath left him in sharp grunts, his face pornographic perfection as he spilled streaks of creamy white heat into the hollow of my throat, the valley of my cleavage, spurt after spine-tingling spurt.  Groaning in satisfaction, he tightened his grip in my hair before claiming my mouth, still milking the last few drops of his come over my skin before falling back against the mattress. 

Unable to resist, I crawled up onto the bed next to him, tickling my fingers around his navel before slipping them into the dense mass of silky soft curls below it, dancing kisses over his heaving chest.  He caught his breath quickly, grabbing and rolling me beneath him.  He smiled down at me, swirling a fingertip through one warm, wet streak before tracing it over my lips, pushing it gently into my mouth.  I sucked hungrily, the salty-sweetness of him sending another flood of arousal flowing down over my thighs.  His eyes darkened with desire, his lips grazing my ear as he chuckled quietly.  “Such a good girl,” he purred, scraping his teeth over the lobe.  “Are you wet, darling?”

I nodded obediently, whimpering a little when he pulled his hand from my mouth.  “Tom,” I squirmed against the mattress.  “I’m soaked…”

“Mmmm,” he hummed his approval, grazing a gentle kiss to my cheek.  “Show me.”

I waited for his gaze to find the hand that rested against my chest, then slowly slid it down my body.  His eyes widened a bit as my fingers paused to tease my nipple to a hard little peak beneath the silk of my bra, then narrowed in delight as they pianoed their way down my ribcage, over the swell of my belly.  His breath left him in a low rush, heating the skin of my neck as he watched me slip inside my panties.  My own eyes closed, and I couldn’t suppress a soft moan as I caressed the naked flesh above my pubic bone, dipping down into the sweet, slick folds below.  My fingertips were glistening with my arousal when I held them out to him; he darted his tongue out to lick them clean.  “Delicious,” he whispered, making me tremble with need.  “Spread your legs, little one.”

As I obeyed, he slid the length of his body down the bed, settling between my thighs to dust light, barely there kisses over the lace that was now clinging wetly to my sex.  I couldn’t stop my hips from rolling lustfully beneath him, and he grinned in wolfish delight.  “Such an eager little cunt you have,” he cooed, sliding one finger under the fabric, teasing my slit from top to bottom and back up again before pulling my panties aside.  I shivered as the cool air prickled at my damp flesh, then mewled weakly as he warmed it with his breath. “You really are exquisite, my love.”  His mouth so close I could just feel the brush of his lips, the flicker of his tongue; I fisted the linens at my sides so hard I was certain my nails would tear right through them. 

“Tom…” I whined desperately through my nose.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweet.”  He kissed the curve of flesh and bone just above my clitoris.  “You’re just…” Another kiss.  “So much fun…” Another, lower, but not low enough.  “To torment…”

And just as I rolled my eyes, just as my troublesome mouth was dropping open to answer back, he slid two fingers into me, curling them just as he closed his mouth around my clit and suckled tenderly.  Whatever sass may have been on my lips died in a breathy sob as my body bowed helplessly beneath him.  His free arm hooked up around my thigh and hip, dragging me down into his touch before his palm came to rest against my lower belly.  I closed my eyes and rolled against him, into him, meeting every thrust of his hand and every flicker of his tongue with a shudder of ecstasy.  I poured all of the tension and frustration and guilt and sorrow that had been plaguing me into every arch of my back, every twist of my hips, fucking his mouth with abandon as his quiet hums and grunts urged me on: _higher_ , and _harder_ , and _faster_ , and _oh, yes, there you are_ … _my sweet girl_ … _don’t you fucking stop now_ …

It was my hand in his hair that let him know what I wanted, what I needed.  His fingers were wet when they tangled with mine, and I could taste my nectar on his lips when he drove himself home, filling me and finding me and holding me together the way he always did when I shattered beneathhim.  Pinning me down, setting me free with his words and his kisses and his caresses and his come.  And when it was over, when there was nothing left but our ragged, heaving breaths and our hearts beating in staccato tandem, I could feel it, what he’d spilled into me to germinate as he whispered _,_ “I love you” before collapsing into my neck.

Hope.


	3. Chapter 3

Jennifer Deseje was a tall, slender woman with sea green eyes and pale red hair shot through with strands of platinum.  Recognized as one the most successful and widely respected fertility experts in Europe, I was shocked that we only had to wait two weeks for an appointment.  Luke swears that he had absolutely nothing to do with it, but to this day, I wonder.  Late January snowflakes drifted from a blue-grey sky when we met Emma in the parking garage of the medical center, and Tom tucked each of us under an arm as we scurried in out of the cold.  He held my hand as my crossed legs thrummed nervously in the waiting room, gently stroking my fingers as I exchanged obligatory hopeful smiles with the few other women who flipped through magazines and tapped on their mobiles and pretended they didn’t feel as raw and naked and exposed as I did. 

Her office was professionally cozy, the walls covered in colorful frames that housed giant eyes and rosy cheeks and wet, pink, gummy grins, each a testament to her success.  I watched Tom’s gaze float from one, to the next, and to the next, and my heart ached at the wistful hope in his eyes; I could hear him wondering to himself if something of our creation might one day join the ranks.  The leather chairs in front of the desk were actually quite comfortable, and I sank into one with Tom on one side, Emma on the other.

“Hiddleston family!”  The voice was friendly and sweet, what I’d expected.  The accent was not, and I tried not to gape as she shook our hands before sliding into her own chair.  “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”

“You’re American,” I blurted as her fingers pulled free from mine.

She grinned briefly before giving Tom and Emma the side eye.  “You’re not supposed to say that in front of the natives,” she tight-lipped.  “Makes ‘em go all twitchy.” 

“I’m so sorry,” I blanched.  “That was so rude…”

“Not at all,” she gestured to the degree on the wall from Oxford, the multiple certifications issued by the governing authorities from London, Cardiff, and Edinburgh.  “All that sheepskin plus the last name… preconceived notions.”  She took a sip from her coffee cup.  “Add to that this being possibly the most nerve-wracking experience of your life, and you’re bound to say something inappropriate.  Believe me,” she winked.  “I’ve heard worse.”    

I liked her immediately.

“So,” she leaned forward, crossing her hands over the stack of manila folders in front of her.  “We can get to know each other as much as you like, but I’ll tell you right now: I’m a cut-to-the-chase kind of girl.  You’ve waited a lifetime to reach the point you’re at, and I’m sure you don’t want to waste any more time.  If I thought a bunch of hand-holding and story sharing would increase the odds of you walking out of here with a rugrat, I’d be the first one sitting Indian-style on the carpet.  But the fact of the matter is this: there isn’t really anything I need to know about you before deciding whether or not to take you on my service that I can’t read in these records.  Now, if that bothers you, we’ve certainly got some wooing time available to us this morning.  But I’d much rather hit the ground running, review what we have here, and see if I can’t get you down to the lab, should we all decide to get into bed together.”  She sat back in her chair.  “Thoughts?”

I turned to Tom, and could tell by his grin that he liked her, too.  “I’m a hit-the-ground-running kind of guy myself,” he chuckled softly.

We looked over at Emma, who of course shrugged good-naturedly.  “I’m just here to carry the groceries,” she smiled.  “I’m following your lead.”

I sat back in my chair, and Dr. Deseje cocked a questioning eyebrow.  Wordlessly, I spread my hands, gesturing to the files beneath her elbows.  “Excellent!”  She smiled, flipped one open, and pulled her tortoise-shell readers from her pocket.  She read in silence for a moment before glancing up at me again.  “You lost it at twenty-four?”  I nodded silently.  “Have you seen the patho pictures?”  I shook my head, feeling the blood drain out of my face.  “Do you want to?” She asked gently.  I shook my head again, a bit stronger this time.

“I’d like to…”

“Oh, Tom,” I turned to him, horrified.  “No!”

“Let him,” the doctor urged quietly, and I narrowed my eyes at her uncertainly.  “It’s not a bad thing for him to know how lucky he is you’re still around.”

“He knows,” I assured her, feeling his fingers close over mine.  But after a moment, I relented, turning away as he took the folder from the physician. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, flipping from one photo to the next, and I closed my eyes, willing myself not to cry.  I heard the creak of leather as he leaned forward in his chair, but only when I could hear the doctor flipping through the pages once more did I open them again.

“So,” Dr. Deseje chewed thoughtfully on her lip.  “Uterus gone, cervix and ovaries still intact,” she glanced up at me again.  “Lucky for you; you had a forward-thinking surgeon.  Used to be a lot of docs figured, ‘hell, we’re in here, and she won’t be using these without that… so…’”

“I know,” I nodded.  “Dr. Choudry was wonderful.”

“Hmm,” she hummed in agreement.  “So.  Any problems after the hysterectomy?”

“Not really,” I admitted.  “The occasional monthly mood swing that’s worse than the others, some intestinal discomfort that I’m pretty sure is endometrial from time to time.  Nothing I can’t handle with some ibuprofen and a heating pad.”

“Use the pill at all after?” She rocked back in her chair.

“No,” I sighed.  “I hated being on it in the first place.  Made me break out, made me nauseous.”

“We do this,” she looked at me, staunch but slightly sympathetic, “you know I’m putting you back on it.”

I nodded.  “I understand.”  Tom’s hand found mine again, and I squeezed it gratefully.

“Good,” she smiled warmly.  “Any issues with exercise… strenuous physical activity?”  I shook my head and she grinned.  “Sex life good?”

Emma snorted from her chair, and Tom and I looked at each other, bowing our heads closer as we laughed quietly.  “Sex life…” I could feel myself blushing.  “Great.”

“Uh-huh.” Her clipped nod made me laugh even harder.  “Tom,” she shifted in her chair, flipping open his file.  “Any health issues with you?”

“Blessedly, no,” he shook his head. 

“Impotence?”

Now it was my turn to snort.

“Erm,” he shifted adorably in his chair.  “No.  Not so far.  Thankfully.”

“Any fertility issues that you know of with other men in your family?”

“No,” he shook his head firmly.

“Boxers or briefs?”

Again, I snorted, and the way his hand gripped tighter over mine told me I was earning myself some payback.  “Boxers,” he replied.  His color was high, and as he raked his hand through his hair, I fell in love with him a little bit more.

“Okay,” Dr. Deseje set his folder aside.  “You two giggle amongst yourself.”  She spun slightly in her chair.  “How about you, Emma?”

My little sister sat primly straight in her seat.  “I’m lucky to be in excellent health, ma’am.  Everything… hormone-wise… has always been…” She groped for the right word.  “Normal? Regular?”

Dr. Deseje nodded.  “Oral contraceptives?”

Emma shook her head.  “A few years ago, but not for two or three now.”

“How long is your cycle, do you think?”

She grinned like a pupil discovering they’d studied the exact right material for an exam.  “Twenty-nine days.”

“You seem awfully certain,” I nudged her elbow playfully.

“What?” Her eyes twinkled.  “I’ve had… reason… to pay attention these last few years.”

It hit me then, just exactly how serious she was, just how committed, and the tears that had been threatening all morning escaped in a blink.  I brushed them away as the doctor absently offered me the box of tissues from her desk, her focus never shifting from Emma. 

“So,” Dr. Deseje smiled.  “Sexually active?”

Emma blushed to the roots of her hair.  “No, ma’am.  Not for about four months now.”

I could hear a clever tease hovering on Tom’s lips; I choked it down with a poke to his ribs.

“Excellent,” the doctor scribbled a note on a post-it that she secured to the inside cover of Emma’s records.  “Anything else?”

Emma just smiled.  “I try to keep a sensible diet, although I must admit to having a bit of a sweet tooth.  I’m not a caffeine junky and I only drink alcohol socially, maybe two or three times a month.  I don’t smoke, I’m not on any kind of medication, and I love to exercise: running, swimming, yoga.” She glanced over at me, at Tom.  “And I’m just really, really excited about being able to do this for my brother and sister-in law.  They’re exactly the kind of people who should be having and raising a child.  They’re both so intelligent, they work hard, they’ve built the most beautiful home and life.  They’re financially intact, they have the means to provide stability and security, and this won’t be a nanny baby – they’ll do it all hands-on themselves.  And they love each other so, so much… I don’t know anybody with a better marriage.”  She looked at us again, tears glistening in her own eyes.  “They love each other,” she repeated.  “And they would love a baby.  So very much.”

Dr. Deseje let the emotion hang in the silence for a moment before meeting my eye.  “Been through the adoption runaround, I see.”  I exhaled a small rueful laugh before nodding.  “Well, the good news here is that I’m not evaluating your worthiness as parents.  You’re here.  You’ve opened yourself up to the physical and emotional and financial challenges this process requires.  That’s good enough for me.  The bad news is that the criteria I use to decide whether we proceed or not is far less subjective.  It’s pretty cut and dry: we need acceptable hormone levels, we need healthy eggs, we need healthy sperm, we need a cooperative uterus.”  She flipped the folder in front of her closed and tossed it onto the stack.  “Any questions for me before I throw you to the vampires?”

“Does…” Tom sat forward a bit in his chair.  “Does that mean…?”

Dr. Deseje pushed her glasses back on her forehead.  “It means I’d like to work with you, Tom.  But we have to see what we have to work with, first.  We’re whipping up a very special dish here.  If we don’t have all the ingredients, there isn’t much else to be done.”  She looked pointedly at me.  “For a former journalist,” she spoke quietly.  “You are suspiciously silent.”  I shrugged, and she leaned closer on her elbows, challenged.  “I want you to think of the most obnoxious press pit question you could possibly ask, and I want you to hit me with it.  Right now.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, staring at my hands, folded around my husband’s in my lap.  “You come very highly recommended.  Your live birth rates are some of the highest in Europe… anywhere, for that matter.  Everybody says you’re the best,” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder.  “And that wall is very impressive.”  I finally lifted my gaze to meet hers.  “But I want you to tell me why you think I should put myself, my husband, my sister…” I had to swallow hard to force the words out, words I don’t think I’d ever said together before.  “My baby… in your hands.”

Tom and Emma sat stiff and silent beside me.  But the woman across the desk?  She softened.  She blossomed.  Her eyes opened a bit and began to shine, her cheeks flushed, her shoulders squared.  Silently, she reached across the desk and turned a large wooden frame to face me.  It was a family portrait, the doctor standing next to a short but handsome man with thick black hair and caramel hued skin.  He held a pale, pudgy infant in his arms, huge green eyes beneath a shock of red hair.  A beautiful little girl of three or four hugged the doctor’s legs, her father’s brown eyes peeking from the edge of her mother’s skirt.  I looked over at the physician, a lump in my throat.  “You…?”

She nodded silently.  “Persistent non-specific uterine incompetence.  We lost four before I was able to really hammer it into my head.”  She reached for another frame, this one holding two different pictures of the same woman.  Both were taken in hospital beds; in both, she wore a hospital-issue wraparound gown, and in both she held a swaddled infant up for the camera to see.  “We came up through med school together,” she mused.  “She’s a GP in Cardiff.”

“Dr. Deseje…” I whispered, feeling at once ecstatically hopeful and bitterly scared.

“Call me Jen,” she insisted quietly.

“Okay,” I nodded.  “Jen.”

She nodded as well.  “So, anything else?”  The three of us shook our heads.  “Great!”  She grabbed an order pad and began scribbling briskly.  “Emma, you’ll be meeting with Tanya.  She’s one of my PA’s and she’ll be performing your physical, including a pelvic and an ultrasound.  We’ll draw blood today, too.  Tom, your physical won’t be as rigorous, but there are some things we need to check, and we’ll draw labs on you as well.  Don’t worry, you get to work with Mark.”  She reached into a drawer, producing a specimen cup.  “When was the last time you two engaged in sexual activity that resulted in ejaculation?”

Tom glanced at me.  “Mine?  Or hers?”  He asked innocently.

“ _TOM!_ ” I hissed, burying my face in my hands while Emma choked back her own giggles.

Dr. Deseje raised an eyebrow.  “Impressive.  But again… I’ve heard worse.”  She gave me a moment to reemerge from behind my fingers.  “Seminal ejaculation,” she clarified, smiling at my flaming cheeks. 

Again, Tom looked to me.  “Five?” He queried.  “Six, maybe?”  I nodded my agreement.

“Five or six days?”

Again, I covered my eyes with my hand.  “Five or six this morning…”

“Oh, you two are going to be so much fun…”  The doctor laughed to herself as she tore the order sheets from the pad.  “Well,” she held a slip and the cup out to Tom.  “Give me what you’ve got left.  Then enjoy tonight, because after that?  It’s hands off, literally, for three days. We’ll take another sample Thursday morning.”  She handed the other slip to Emma. 

“What…” I cleared my throat.  “What should I do?”

Dr. Deseje smiled at me.  “You and I are going to go through that door and see what we’ve got to work with.”  She rose from her chair, and the three of us followed suit.  Tom turned to me, taking my face in his hands.  “You okay?”  I nodded and he leaned down, kissing me softly.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Twenty minutes later, three vials of blood sat on the counter beside the exam table as Dr. Deseje helped me into the stirrups.  She chuckled a little when I pulled up the clinic gown to bare my stomach, my hands shaking more than a little.  “Hey,” she lay a comforting hand on my shoulder.  “Relax.  Breathe.  This is why we do this part alone, just you and me.”  I nodded, gulping in air and swallowing it down.  “You ready?”  She tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I nodded again, and she moved to the stool next to the ultrasound.  The gel was freezing, and I gasped a little as she smoothed it over my skin with the blunt head of the wand.  Grainy bronze images swirled onto the screen, and I squinted as she narrated what she saw.  “Cervix appears normal.”  She traced a finger over a patch of black.  “If you still had it, this is where it would be,” she said quietly.  “Ovaries appear normal in both shape and size.”  She tapped a few keys on the machine and the image shifted. “Left side first.”  Again, she outlined shapes on the screen with the tip of a finger.  “Follicles here.  There’s an egg, and there, one more here…”  I heaved a sigh of relief as she slid to the other side of my pelvis.  “Right side… looks good.  Eggs here and here, here and here, one more here.”  As she talked, her fingers worked the machine, and small images began to emerge from the printer beneath the screen.  “And… finished.”  She tucked the wand back into its holster, and handed me a few tissues.  “Pretty painless, yes?”

“Mm-hmm,” I affirmed, wiping at my belly before sitting up.  “So…” I chewed at my bottom lip.  “You see anything… encouraging?”

She looked at me levelly.  “I’m going to be honest with you, Michelle,” she sighed.  “I would like to see more.  Lefty here,” she pointed at the photo, “already looks semi-retired.  I would expect to see three times the numbers… they just aren’t there.”  I could feel my face twisting in misery, and I had to remind myself not to wipe ultrasound goo on my face when I lifted the tissues to swipe at the tears.  Jen handed me fresh Kleenex, and I sniffled gratefully.  “Now Miss Right?  She’s trying to pick up the slack.  She’ll probably respond to stimulation fairly well.  That said,” she turned her chair to face me fully.  “I don’t like to harvest for less than ten.  I won’t harvest for less than five.” She scooted her stool to the counter, filling out stickers that she pressed onto the lab tubes.  “We’ll analyze what’s going on in here, and your Lupron dosage will be based off what levels are present.  I’d like to see you once a week to check our progress, see if we need to tweak here and there.  I’ll call in the script for it and the Loestrin tonight, I want you on both of them first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Wait,” I struggled to get my legs out of the stirrups so I could sit straighter on the table.  You said… but…”  I pressed a hand unconsciously to my belly.  “We’re…”

“We’re gonna go for it,” she grinned.  “Tell me what you know about self administering injections.”


	4. Chapter 4

Tom had to leave straight from the medical center for an afternoon of meetings with Michael about upcoming projects; we huddled together against the Jag for a moment of goodbye.  “Everything come out okay?” I purred, nudging my hip playfully against his fly.

“Ugh,” he rolled his eyes.  “Would have been more fun if they’d sent you to help things along,” he growled, burying his face in my neck.  “But I managed,” he scraped his teeth over my earlobe.  “Especially once I imagined you… on your knees in front of me… begging me to come all over those gorgeous breasts of yours…”

“Tom,” I whimpered, pressing against him.  “Don’t tease…”

Another nip to my neck, and he lifted his head.  “So,” he nodded at Emma, who sat waiting in her idling car.  “You two off to find some trouble to get into?”  I nodded with a giggle as he waved to her one last time.  “And later? Dinner out?”

“Eh,” I wriggled into his coat, wrapping my arms around him and resting my gloved hands lightly over the seat of his trousers.  “I was thinking we should stay in tonight,” I mused.  “Since we’re on the bench for a bit, starting tomorrow.”

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned, “especially not when you’re grabbing my ass.”

“This is not me grabbing your ass,” I sighed before tightening my grip on the taut, rounded muscle.  “This,” I batted my lashes.  “Is me grabbing your ass…”

“Naughty girl,” he tugged at my hair.  “You’re going to get it when I get home…”

“Oh, God, I hope so,” I smiled before his lips captured mine once more.

After a few more sweet kisses, we parted, and Emma and I drove to Princi to meet Diana for lunch.  Emma queued up Sarah on Facetime, and as we ate, we filled the other two Hiddleston women in on the morning’s details.  It was touching to watch Diana fight not to get her hopes up, her gentle hands and soft words reassuring me that whatever was meant to be would be, and that Tom and I would still be perfect together, no matter what.  It was hilarious to watch the sisters bicker back and forth: “I would have volunteered to do it too, you know, if I’d thought of it…”  “But you didn’t think of it…”  “Well, that’s because I’m not a nosy little twit always up in everyone’s business…”  “Well, maybe if you were a bit more in everybody’s business you could think of brilliant ideas like mine…”

After the restaurant, we were off to Pilates to work off the tiramisu we’d sworn we wouldn’t order.  We were walking off the floor towards the saunas when two young women approached, shyly giggling.  Each held a hardback copy of **_A Pastiche Heart_** and a pen.  “We’re so sorry to bother… we saw you here last week… we weren’t even sure it was really you…”

I held out my hands, smiling.  It didn’t happen often, and it always felt amazingly surreal.  I could never stop myself from running my fingers over the glossy dust jacket, the heart-shaped collage made up of snippets of my photographs.  I flipped open the front cover, asking for a name, never at all certain of what I should write.  “How’s Tom?” One of the girls asked, having sucked in a chestful of bravery.

“Tom’s great,” I spoke casually, scribbling my name and handing the book back to its owner while reaching for the other one.

“You two are brilliant,” the smaller of the two murmured softly.  Her cheeks were crimson and her eyes big as saucers.  “So open and honest.  Brilliant… really.”

“Thank you,” I squeezed her hand as she took her book back then shuffled back a few steps.  Her friend huddled at her side for a moment as they looked at and compared the signatures I’d left. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hiddleston, really, thank you.”  Then, in a flip of ponytails and a cloud of nervous giggles, they were gone.

“Well,” Emma draped an arm over my shoulder.  “That was sweet.  And awkward.”

“It always is,” I sighed with a grin.

*          *          *          *          *

I was surprised to see the Jag already in the driveway when Emma dropped me off at the curb.  I collected my purse and the bags we’d collected from the pharmacy and, with a kiss to her cheek, stepped out into the cold, foggy damp.  I hurried up the front steps and through the front door, locking it soundly behind me.  “Tom?” I called out as I shrugged out of my coat and scarf.  “You said eight-thirty…”  I headed for the staircase, shaking the damp out of my hair, then froze, my jaw dropping as I caught sight of the living room.

The fireplace was alight, glowing and crackling and casting its warmth over the mattress from our bed.  I’d never seen the silky linen sheets before, turned back over sprinklings of orchid and rose petals.  The coffee table was bedecked with an assortment of finger foods; champagne chilled in a bucket beside Tom’s pillow. 

“I lied.”

His voice next to my ear made me jump and he laughed gently, wrapping his arms around me from behind.    I turned my wide eyes up to his. “What?”

“I lied,” he nuzzled my cheek.  “When I said I’d be home at eight thirty.”

“Why?”

He nodded with pride at the spread laid out before us.  “Because I wanted to surprise you.”

I turned in his embrace, and my mouth went dry at the sight.  His black button down shirt hung open, offering an enticing view of muscle and sinew.  His only other clothing was a handsome pair of black silk boxers that hung low on his hips and did little to conceal the ample weight within them.

“Three days,” he whispered, smoothing my hair back from my forehead.  “Three very long days...”  His hands trailed down my arms, lifting my fingers to his lips.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” I teased gently, shivering as his gaze locked with mine, his teeth nibbling at my fingertips.

“You warned me,” he nodded, his eyes swirling intense ocean blue.  “Still, I was hoping I could seduce you into spoiling me tonight.”

“Mmm,” I swallowed hard as his lips closed around my index finger, sucking gently.  “And how, exactly, would you like me to do that?”

He grinned devilishly.  “So glad you asked, darling.”  I squealed in surprised amusement as he swept me up into his arms, carrying me around the sofa before setting me down in front of the hearth.  Tracing his fingertips over my collarbone, he stepped back, sinking to stretch out on the mattress.  He collected the pillows, tucking them behind his head, then crossed one endlessly long, well-muscled leg over the other.   “I want you to strip every thread of clothing from your body right there where you stand.  Then I want you to crawl onto this bed, so that I can spread you out, and spend all night making love to you.”  My nipples, already swelling below the satin of my bra, hardened to sharp, pebbled peaks at the purr in his voice, my panties suddenly felt two sizes too small.  “I want every soft, sweet inch of you.” He murmured, his eyes darkening, his skin flushing with desire.  “Please.”

 Shivering, I reached back for the zipper at the nape of my neck, smiling as I remembered his fingers smoothing over my spine as he’d pulled it up for me just that morning.  I could see his cock twitch slightly at the sound of it descending to the small of my back, and I bit my lip slightly as I pulled the soft wool down my arms.  It pooled at my feet, and his grin curled over his teeth.  “That is one hell of a look on you, darling.”

I glanced down, exhaling a small laugh at the sight of my black satin bra and panties, my lace thigh-high stockings, my black knee-high leather boots.  I clicked my tongue at him in a mock scold.  “I thought you said there’s no topping you,” I teased.

“Walk around like that more often,” he passed his tongue over his lips.  “I may be persuaded to reconsider.”

I cocked my head to one side, pretending to ponder a moment before shaking it firmly.  “I’m happy just being your sweet little sub.”

“Good girl,” his voice took on a husky, needy timbre that made me shiver with delight.  “Now get down to your skin and get your delicious little ass over here.”

“Yes, sir,” I purred, lifting one foot to the hearth so I could unlace my boot.  I took my time, giving him the show I knew he craved, stripping inch by teasing inch.  Finally bare, I dropped smoothly to my hands and knees, crawling up to lay next to him.  He wound his arms around me, moving us both onto our sides.  His gaze burned through me as he lay his forehead against mine, one hand slipping into my hair while the other drew my leg up over his hip.

“Tell me, Michelle.” 

The command, the cue, the words that never failed to wrap my heart around his; my pupils dilated, my breasts grew even heavier, another rush of welcoming wetness surged between my legs.  “I’m yours, Tom,” I murmured against his mouth.  “Always.  Forever.  I’m yours.”

“I love you, Michelle,” the last syllable of my name teased his tongue against my lips.  “And I am yours.  No matter what happens; whether we succeed, whether we fail.  I am yours and you are mine.”  He gripped my hair just a bit tighter, I pressed closer to him in reply.  “Nothing changes that.  Do you understand me?”  I nodded, biting down on my bottom lip, but he tugged my hair just a bit harder.  “Say it.”

“I’m yours, Tom,” I gasped softly.  “You’re mine.  Nothing changes that.  Not ever.”

I would have continued, told him how much I loved him, how much I needed him, how much I truly doubted I’d ever be able to breathe without him.  But he sealed our lips together, his tongue twisting over and around mine in a savage, sensual dance.  My fingers groped the muscles of his back though the linen of his shirt; I whined softly in frustration.  The kiss never broke, but he somehow managed to work his way out of the garment, baring his skin to my touch. 

Passionate but slow, we took our time, exploring the terrain of one another; well known and well loved landscape still so inviting, so beguiling.  I shivered as his mouth traced down along my jaw, whimpered as his teeth nipped at my throat, giggled and squirmed as his fingers teased over my ribcage.  “I’ve missed that sound,” he whispered, tickling me in earnest a moment before capturing my wrists and stretching them over my head.  I knew what he wanted, and I arched my back in offering.  He cupped my breasts in his hands, thumbing my nipples to points I swore could cut glass before suckling gently at first one, then the other.  I threw my head back, sighing his name as his tongue danced warm, wet swirls over my skin.  His arms slid underneath me, hugging me close as he buried his face in my stomach.  My navel, my scar, the ridge of my pubic bone, he left no inch unstroked, unkissed, untasted.  I combed my fingers through his curls as he closed his teeth over the flesh at the corner of my hip before trailing down to leave another love bite just inside my upper thigh.  I laughed again as he turned me to kiss behind my knee, nuzzle his way down the inside of my calf, nip tenderly at my ankle.  He moved up the other side of my body in the same fashion, until he hovered above me, breathing deep and steady against my mouth.  “Tell me…” He whispered with a grin.

“I’m yours…” I whispered back. 

His hands went to his hips; I helped him slide his boxers down and off.  He guided my legs up and around his waist, tilting my body to maximize the pressure of his penetration against my g-spot.  My breath hitched in a shuddering gasp and my lids closed in ecstasy as he buried his full length, slow, smooth, until we couldn’t be any closer.  We stayed that way for long moments, simply holding one another, savoring the heat, the proximity, the perfection of our connection.  I stroked the soft silkiness of his hair, the sandpaper of the stubble along his jaw, the velvet smoothness of the muscles rippling in his back, his arms.  He nudged his hips against me and I gasped at the twinge it set off deep inside.  He did it again, drawing my thigh up over his hip and burying his face in my neck.  His hand found my breast as his teeth closed on the hollow beneath my ear, and it was my turn to rut hungrily against him.

Deliberate, unhurried.  He held me for hours, rocking gently, thrusting deep and long and even.  A slow burn that he controlled with an almost infuriating ease.  Even when his own muscles thrummed with electric thrill, even when his own pores opened to spill musky sweet drops of perspiration from his brow.  His clear blue eyes never wavered, his strong, sure hands never trembled.  He moved beside me, below me, behind me, until I was sobbing, shaking, begging.  Only then did he spread me beneath him, braiding his fingers through mine.  One hand on each side of my head, his mouth warming my cries before breathing them back into me, his body in the cradle of mine, pumping harder, faster, driving the spark to the source and igniting explosion after explosion of white hot light.

Later, lying in his arms with every kind of hunger sated, I propped my chin on his chest, my fingers drawing lazy circles around his nipples.  He drained his glass before setting it aside, tucking a lock of sweat-dampened hair behind my ear and smoothing a thumb over my wrinkled brow.  “Don’t scrunch, love,” he murmured softly.  “Everything is going to be absolutely wonderful.”  I nodded weakly, and he tightened his arm around me.  “Michelle,” his gaze intensified a bit.  “I mean it.  Everything is going to be absolutely wonderful.”

I blinked back sudden tears, refusing to let my weepy nature ruin the night.  But my traitor mouth ran away from me, as it almost always did.  “How can you be so sure?”

His smile was dazzling.  “Because it already is.  I love you so much… our life is as close to perfect as it can be…”

“Except for this one thing…” 

“This one thing,” he put his fingers to my mouth.  “Is going to work itself out, one way or another.”

Unable to hold them back any longer, I blinked two full, fat tears down my cheeks.  “And what if it’s another?”

“Oh, little one,” he pulled me closer, kissing me tenderly, wiping them away with his thumbs.  “Then I have you all to myself, forever.  We’ll work the way we always have, play the way we always have, travel the way we always have, fuck the way we always have.  I can continue to take you bent over the arm of the sofa or on your knees on the staircase, whenever it suits me, without fear of getting caught.  We only have to tuck the cuffs away if company’s coming.”  He teased his tongue against my lips.  “You can scream as long and as loud as you like…”

I wanted to resist his sunny, sensual optimism, unable to bear the thought of such a cloud castle being blown away like so much smoke.  But the light in his eyes, the love in his expression… “God, I hate it when you do that,” I sniffled through a grin.

“Do what, love?”

“Make me believe that I can have everything I ever wanted,” I traced a fingertip down the line of his nose.  “Even if I don’t get everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“It’s my job,” he chuckled.  “Beautiful girl.  All we have to do,” he paused to tenderly kiss my lips.  “Is get through tomorrow.”  Another kiss to my cheek. “And the day after that.” His lips at the corner of my jaw.  “And the day after that.”  His mouth sucking firmly at the pulse point in my neck.

Giggling, I rolled suggestively against him, glancing up at the clock. 

“What time does tomorrow officially start?”


	5. Chapter 5

I awoke alone the next morning, the linens tucked lovingly around me, the fire crackling low in the fireplace.  The champagne in my glass had been replaced by orange juice, and I could smell the coffee in the kitchen.  Yawning and stretching, I snagged the flute by the stem and downed it in a few long swallows before glancing at the clock.  8:36. I lifted myself to my feet, and was about to wind myself in the sheet when I saw my robe draped over the arm of the sofa.  Smiling, I pushed my arms into the sleeves and cinched it at my waist.  I snagged the paper bag I’d left on the entry table and jogged up the stairs.  I showered quickly, leaving plenty of hot water for Tom, then dressed in a sweater and my most comfortable pair of jeans.  Sitting down at my vanity, I pushed my wet hair back from my face and emptied the bag on the counter. 

I read the leaflet included with the pack of pills, along with the more specific doctor’s orders the pharmacist had stapled to the back.  I clicked open the plastic case and counted off per the instructions, popping the specified small tablet through the foil backing.  Tucking it into my mouth, I filled our rinse cup at the sink to wash it down. 

I was just finishing the directions that accompanied the Lupron when Tom appeared in the doorway.  His hoodie was still up over his windblown hair, his cheeks and forehead were flushed from the cold, and he was still panting just a bit.  “Morning, love,” he crossed to press a kiss to my temple, smelling of cedarwood and snow, then paused when he saw the syringe in my hand.  His expression swirled from sympathy to trepidation to excitement and back.  “Can I help?”

I smiled gratefully up at him.  “I think I’ve got it,” I reassured him.  “But thank you.”

He chewed on his lip a bit as I drew up the prescribed dose, capping the needle before placing the vial on the shelf in my medicine cabinet.  Lifting up my sweater, I swiped at the skin to the right of my bellybutton with alcohol.  I glanced up at the mirror to see Tom’s reflection staring intently at what I was about to do.  Grinning, I held the needle out to him.  “Do you want to do it?”

“No!” He exclaimed, then winced a little.  “I mean, I don’t _want_ to, want to.  But if you want me to… you know, if you don’t want to do it… I mean, I’ll do it if you want…”

I couldn’t help it; I laughed a little at his discomfort.  “Tom,” I said gently.  “It’s okay.  I can do it.”

“But darling, if you want me to…”

“I don’t,” I shook my head.  “I mean,” I heaved a sigh.  “I can do it.  It’s not that big a deal.”  Popping the cap off the needle once more, I aligned the tip with my skin. 

“Should I go?”  He blurted adorably.

I laughed again.  “Do you want to go?”

“I don’t know.”  I was surprised to hear an unfamiliar whine in his voice.  “I don’t like the idea of watching you stab yourself.  But,” he dropped to his knees beside me.  “You’re doing this for us… for our family.  I feel like… I don’t know… I should bear witness or something…”

Placing the syringe on the counter, I took his face in my hands.  “Tom,” I nuzzled my nose against his.  “You can stay and watch.  You can go.  I can give myself the shot; I can show you how to do it.  Things will most likely change as my hormones begin to rage, but at this moment in time, I don’t care.”  I rested my forehead against his.  “What do _you_ need?”

He sat in quiet thought for a moment before his blue eyes met mine once more.  “Show me what to do,” he said softly.  “You take the morning dose; I’ll take the night…”

And so began the dance.

The first two days were deceptively easy, their activity identical.  I deliberately slept late in the morning so that Tom would be up and gone before I was ever out of bed.  I spent my time in front of my laptop, fleshing out the latest work commissioned by my editors at Doubleday.  Tom had signed on as the lead for a short film shooting in Carlisle, and after seven hours on the train there and back, he came home exhausted but happy.  We prowled out to the café just outside our neighborhood, the last customers of the day, chatting quietly over our food as the staff stacked chairs on the tables around us and swept the floors.  Back home we climbed the stairs, and in the bathroom, I leaned against the sink, biting back my giggles as Tom knelt in front of me.  His hands were steady, if overly cautious, as he slid the needle gingerly into my skin, pressing the plunger of the syringe with slow, calculated care.  I’d shown him how to load the dose with an air seal behind it, but he scrutinized the injection site for a few seconds anyway, watching for leakage, for bleeding.  When there was none, he dropped the syringe into the sharps container I’d placed beside the trash can, then pressed his lips to the spot he’d punctured.

Dressing for bed was new; it had been years since either of us had slipped beneath the sheets wearing anything but a smile.  And we laughed until our sides hurt that first night when, despite his exhaustion and determination to do his part for our little science project, he tented both his flannel trousers and the bed sheets in the most obvious, unable-to-overlook manner.  I tried to scoot over to my side of the bed to give him some space, but he refused to have it, curling me against his side and burying his nose in my hair.

Day three dawned cold and slushy.  The shifting of the bed as Tom rose woke me from sleep, and I could feel the nagging headache brewing just behind my eyes.  I waited until I heard the front door close before trudging to the bathroom to chase some ibuprofen with a shot of his mouthwash to try and wash away the film that coated my tongue.  I fell back asleep until the front door closed again, waking me with a start.  I lay in bed like a log, pretending to doze as he showered and dressed.  It was a little difficult not to smile when he tucked the blankets around my shoulders and brushed a feather-light kiss to my cheek.  But not very.

Another thin doze, and I blinked at bedside clock, shocked to see I’d slept past noon.  I sat upright, only to be hit by a wave of nausea that dropped my head between my knees in a hurry. I cast my mind back to the years between thirteen and twenty-four, the days when it seemed all I was doing was trading one misery for another.  “You survived it for nine and half years,” I told myself aloud.  “Six weeks is nothing…”  The wave subsided, and I shuffled to the bathroom.  Lukewarm water pouring from the showerhead provided a moderate amount of relief, and I sighed, gently rubbing the pinprick bruises I was starting to accumulate on my belly.  Standing in front of the mirror, I scowled at the fine line of blemishes taking root at my hairline, the sore spots on my chin I was fairly certain would erupt in the next day or two. 

_Well that will certainly make things easier_ , I thought to myself.  _He won’t be so horny if I look like a leper._

After two hours of staring at the screen of my computer, the words on the page looking more like Greek than anything I may have written, I decided I needed to get the hell out of the flat.  Bundling myself up, I climbed into my car and headed for the market.  I was browsing for the freshest tomatoes when a bundle of orange and leafy green suddenly appeared over my shoulder.  A husky, familiar voice rumbled in my ear.

 “He’s miles away.  You know it, and I know it.  I’m taking my shot.  I’ve got twenty-four carrots to offer you here… run away with me, love.”

I turned on my heel, laughing warmly.  “Sweet Ben.”

“Hello, darling,” Benedict tossed the produce back on the pile and wrapped his arms around me, pressing a kiss to my cheek.  “Good to see you, you look amazing!”

I rolled my eyes at him, blowing my bangs back of my forehead.  “You’re dashing, as always,” I grinned as he pulled his cart up alongside mine.  “I almost didn’t recognize you without a flock of screaming girls on your heels.”  He dropped me a playful wink as he began to browse the fresh asparagus.  I glanced over at his groceries.  “Do you even know how to cook Cornish game hen?” I teased.

He looked aghast.  “Do you honestly think I would shop for food I wasn’t well-equipped to prepare?”  I gave him the side-eye and he shrugged.  “Well, you can find anything on the internet these days, can’t you?”

“I take it this means Carrie is back from Tuscany?”  I gestured to the bottle of wine and white tapers tucked among the other sundries.  He shot another wink, and I smiled.  “Aww, you missed her.”

“Shh,” he raised a long finger to his lips.  “Don’t tell anyone.”  We pushed our carts side by side for another moment.  “And how about you?  You managing all right without Tom underfoot?”

I nodded.  “It’s good to have alone time,” I mused.  “And he’s home at night, so it’s not all that bad.”

His shoulder gently nudged against mine.  “He told me.  About the letter… the adoption stand-still…”  It made sense; Ben, after all, had been one of our references.  I nodded silently, letting my head rest briefly against his arm.  “I’m so sorry, Michelle.”

“It’s all right,” I sighed, offering him a small smile.  “We’re not giving up.”

“Never give up,” he chucked me gently under the chin.  “It’ll all fall together in time.  You and Tom deserve it too much for it not to.”  We rounded the corner of an aisle.  “So, are you thinking of trying international again?  Or are you going to keep looking locally?  You never gave up your U.S. citizenship, though, did you… maybe you should try there..?”  My shoulders tensed under the weight of his questions, and he winced briefly.  “Sorry…”

I shook my head.  “No, it’s okay…”

“No, it’s not.  I’m being an insensitive arse, and I’m sorry.”  He wound an arm around me and hugged me gently.  “Just know… if there is anything I can do, anything at all, all you need do is instruct me.  All right?”  He dropped an affectionate kiss on top of my head.  “I’ll just get all the answers when the book comes out, eh?”

I stopped short, looking at him, bewildered.  “Wait, what?”

“Well, knowing you, you’ll just turn it all into another best-seller, right?”

My stomach dropped through the floor, but I managed a small laugh.  “Right…”

I finished my shopping in a fog, allowing Ben to help me load my car before saying an absent-minded goodbye.  I kept turning his words over and over in my head, suddenly pondering if maybe he wasn’t the only one who thought that way.  I’d always wondered if my writing played any part in the trouble Tom and I were having becoming adoptive parents.  I’d assumed my honesty about our dynamic, our romantic inclinations, had prejudiced the more conservative minds on the panels set to make the decisions.  Tom had always assured me I was wrong, and I now I wondered if he was right.  Maybe it wasn’t what I’d written that gave them pause; maybe it was concern over what I would write in the future.

Such thoughts were still distracting me that night when Tom walked into the kitchen.  “My God, that smells good!”  He pulled the oven door open to peek at the sandwiches under the broiler.  “Croque Provencal?”  I nodded from where I was slicing fruit next to the sink.  “You spoil me, love.”  He crossed to wind an arm around my shoulders, and I met his lips with my own.  “We should tuck in upstairs,” he continued after we separated.  “I’m completely knackered.  Justin had the brilliant idea to shoot the track scene with Zack and Aaron actually running the track…”  He prattled on as he helped me load up our plates, and I followed him up to the bedroom.  He finished just as I set the last of the dishes on the bedside table, looking at me with a cocked eyebrow.  “You all right, darling?”

I nodded, rubbing my palms up and down my upper arms.  “Yeah,” I nodded.  “Just… a little tired, that’s all.”

“Aw, my sweet,” he knee-walked across the bed to wrap his arms around me, and I gladly buried my face in his neck.  Instinct took over, and before I realized it, I slid my palm down the front of his body to cup him through his jeans.  His breath left him in a long hiss, and he grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand away.  “Ah, ah, ah, love, have mercy on me,” he groaned.  “Nine hours to go, and I don’t mind telling you,” he reached down to adjust the weight behind his fly.  “I’m feeling more than a little blue.”

I winced, fisting my hands beneath my chin.  “I’m sorry…”

“It’s all right,” he brushed my bangs out of my eyes and gently kissed my forehead.  “Just make sure those hands are warm tomorrow morning.”  He flopped back against his pillows and moved his plate into his lap.  “You’ve no idea how happy I’ll be to lay down this load, if you’ll pardon the expression.”  I giggled, bouncing onto the bed next to him and taking a bite of my own sandwich.  “I didn’t think it was a problem, until I reminded Justin I’d be late tomorrow.  He made it a point to ask if I’d leave ‘Grumpy Tom’ at home.”

“Aww,” I rubbed his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said around a mouthful.  “He even asked if it was a doctor’s appointment; says I’ve seemed a bit under the weather.”

My heart stopped in my chest, and I swallowed hard.  “What did you… you didn’t tell him, did you?”

Tom’s brow furrowed in concern.  “What?  Tell him I’m off to wank at the doctor’s office so they can make sure my little wigglers are up for the swim?  No.  I told him we just needed a little bit of personal time.  A special little lie in, just the two of us.” 

I heaved a sigh, offering him a small, tight smile.  “Thank you.”

He let the silence linger between us for a few bites before speaking again.  “You know, Michelle,” he reached over to caress my cheek.  “Eventually, we’re going to have to tell people what we’re up to…”

“I know.”  I put my plate aside, my appetite gone as another shadow of nausea crept into my stomach.  I turned my eyes to his, pleading.  “Just… not yet.  Okay?”

He gazed at me for a long moment, scrutinizing, before nodding with a little smile of his own.  “Okay.”

I rubbed his shoulder again.  “I’m going to go take my shot,” I murmured, pushing myself up from the bed.

His eyes clouded.  “But… night dose is mine, yes?”

“It’s okay,” I forced a light expression.  “I’ve got this one.”  I hurried into the bathroom, sinking into my seat at the vanity and burying my head in my hands.  I wanted to sob, I wanted to scream, I wanted to crawl out of my skin.  I fisted my hands in my hair until my scalp burned, I swallowed down mouthful after mouthful of bile. 

Finally, the strongest wave of emotion passed, and I opened my eyes to see Tom in the mirror, leaning in the doorway.  The corners of his mouth were turned down, and his own eyes seemed a little misty.  “Feeling it tonight, huh?”  

“Maybe.  Just a little…”  It was all I could manage before crumbling into tears. 

He was on the floor in front of me in a heartbeat, drawing me into the safety of his arms.  He held me like he would a child, rocking me tenderly, stroking my hair, my back.  His voice was soft, soothing, constant: “I love you, Michelle… I love you so much… Don’t cry, love… It’s all going to be all right… I promise…”

When at last I felt I could bear it, I turned my face up to his.  “I’m so sorry, Tom.”

“Stop it,” he chided gently, wiping my tears and brushing his lips against mine.  “Moody means it’s working.”  He rose to his feet, pulling me carefully with him and leaning me against the sink.  I watched him, sniffling quietly, as he filled a syringe.  I pulled my sweater up as he knelt once more, delivering the injection with the same sweet care.  This time, after discarding the needle, he didn’t just kiss the spot he’d stuck.  He visited every tiny bruise, nuzzled his nose around the cup of my navel, traced his fingertips over my scar. 

“You know,” I slid my fingers into his hair.  “There’s going to be a day when this isn’t going to be… like this.”  He cocked his head questioningly.  “There’s going to come a day when you’re going to be chomping at the bit to stick me with one of those things, just so you can take out some aggression on me for making your life miserable.” 

“The only thing that is making my life miserable,” he breathed, flickering his tongue at the skin just above the button of my jeans, “is that I can’t bend you over the counter in front of that mirror and fuck you from behind while you watch.”

“Oh, my God,” I pulled myself from his embrace, backing up a step.  “Is someone having a problem dealing with the concept of…?”

“Don’t say it,” he warned, rising to his feet, his shoulders hunched, predatory.

“Does someone need a lesson in…?”

“Michelle, I mean it.”

“Do you need a refresher about the rewards of…?”

“I’m warning you, little one,” he growled, unable to keep the smile from his voice.

I paused for dramatic effect.  “Delayed gratification?”

“That’s it!”  He lunged for me as I jumped back with a squeal. 

I only made it a few feet before his long legs closed the distance between us; I was already laughing breathlessly as he dragged us both to the bed, his touch tickling mercilessly over my ribs and belly.  “I’m sorry, Tom… I’m sorry!”  I gasped between shrieks and giggles.  “Please, sir…no more… I’m so sorry, sir…”

“Oh, ‘sir’… I like that…” He pinned me beneath him, his fingers finding every vulnerable spot.  “Beg me some more and maybe I’ll stop.”

“Please, Tom, sir, please, please, please!  I’m so sorry, sir… Tom… I’m so, so sorry. Please, please… have mercy… please…”

He finally relented, wrapping his fingers around my wrists, holding me down as I tried to catch my breath, still exhaling small giggles now and then.  “God, I really do love you,” he smiled, leaning in for a soft, sweet kiss. 

“Oh, Tom,” I lifted my head from the mattress to meet every touch of his mouth.  “I love you, too.”

“And I’m so fucking hard right now…!”  His shout was muffled as he buried his face in my neck.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the ceiling.  “Oh, Tom,” I sighed.  “Just remember… it’s good for the soul.”

“Michelle…”  His voice, full of weary warning.

“Sorry, Tom.”


	6. Chapter 6

My alarm went off at six the following morning and, as expected, I rolled over to find myself in bed alone.  My headache was back, and I felt itchy from head to toe.  I stripped off my pajamas as I walked to the bathroom, firing up the hot water before groping again for the ibuprofen.  I lingered in the shower a little longer than I’d intended, standing with my eyes closed beneath the cascade.  Tom was just walking in as I pushed the door open, dripping from head to toe as I reached for a towel.  “Jesus Christ,” he groaned, actually swaying on his feet a bit.  “Are you fucking serious?”  He sounded genuinely irritated as he adjusted the sudden swelling in his sweatpants.  “Two hours to go and I find you like this?”

“Sorry,” I frowned, wrapping the terrycloth around me and flicking the wet tails of my hair at him as I passed.  “I wasn’t trying to ambush you.”

“I never said you were, darling,” he snapped, yanking his hoodie and t-shirt over his head together, filling the air with the spicy musk of his deodorant mingled with his sweat.

_God, he smells good…_ I closed my eyes, squeezing my thighs together. 

“But you could have used your head a little,” he continued, leaning in to turn the water back on, twisting the knob far into the blue.  “Shut the door, at least.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” I scowled, tearing open a syringe and thrusting the needle through the rubber seal of the Lupron vial.

“Fine!” He growled, pushing his sweats and boxers down and kicking them off.  His half erect cock twitched between his thighs, flushed, the veins throbbing beneath his skin. He followed my gaze, waving his hand in a there-you-go gesture.  “Doesn’t help much with this.”

“You know,” I slammed the vial down on the counter.  “You’re not the only one going without around here.”

“Maybe not,” he stepped into the shower and shoved the door closed.  “But I am the only one carrying the physical equivalent of a lightning rod between my legs.”

“Right!”  I barked.  “Well, I’m the only one who’s walking around the equivalent of a human pincushion!”  I jabbed the needle under my skin and pushed the plunger to emphasize my point.  “Only your lightning strikes in a couple of hours and you’re done!  But I’ll get stuck again tonight!  And tomorrow!  And the day after that and the day after that!”  I threw the syringe across the counter and stood up, nearly knocking my chair over in the process.  “Don’t worry,” I sneered as I walked out of the bathroom.  “I’ll use my head and shut the door!”  I didn’t so much close it as I did slam it, my body trembling with anger and sadness.  I glanced at the dress I’d hung on the door of my armoire, the stockings I’d chosen draped over the hanger.  Pouting my lip, I grabbed my robe instead, throwing it on and stomping downstairs.

I was sitting at the breakfast bar, sipping coffee, when strong arms slipped around my waist, warm lips caressed my neck.  “I’m so, so sorry, love.”  I ignored him, turning my head further away.  He exhaled a watery sigh and held me tighter, kissing my ear, my temple, my cheek.  “Michelle, I mean it.  I’m really, really sorry.”  Finally, I turned my face to his.  My lip trembled at the sight of his wet eyes, the unhappy moue of his mouth.  “I was acting like a right royal prick.”  His hand went to my belly, rubbing tenderly.  “And you’ve had quite enough of those.” 

I huffed a small, rueful laugh through my nose. “Yes, you were,” I sniffed.

He smiled sheepishly into my eyes, gently taking my face in his hands.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over, trailing his lips over my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks.  “I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry…”  Part of me wanted to resist him, to hold on to the hurt and the anger that churned in my stomach.  But when his mouth covered mine I melted, winding my arms around his neck and opening to him in silent surrender.  He moaned softly into my lungs, his hands sliding into my damp hair to angle my head to his desire.  “God, I miss you,” he muttered, moving to the hollow beneath my ear.  My eyes rolled back in my head as he closed his teeth on the tender flesh, and I went limp in his embrace.

After a moment, he pulled gently away, his blue eyes hazy with need.  “Am I forgiven?” He asked quietly.

I nodded, caressing his jaw with my fingertips.  “You are forgiven,” I gave him a small smile.

He glanced down at my robe.   “Will you still come with me, please?”  I nodded again, letting him pull me from the stool to my feet.  He tucked me under his arm and we climbed the stairs together.

Mark the PA was waiting for us at the reception desk when we walked, hand in hand, into the clinic.  “Tom, Michelle, good morning,” he ushered us down the hallway and into a private exam room, closing the door firmly behind him. Tom guided me to the chair, leaning against the wall at my side.  “So,” Mark took a seat on the rolling stool and began to fill out the lab slip on the counter.  “Tom, I’m sure you remember what we discussed on Monday.”

“I do,” he nodded, his cheeks only slightly flushed.

“Michelle, let me fill you in a little.  Today’s sample is for verification only: numbers, motility, viability.  None of what we take today will be used for insemination; after we get the information we need, everything will be destroyed.  Should follicle stimulation result in a harvest, we’ll collect again on that day to maximize our chances of success.” 

I nodded, glancing up at Tom with a grin.  “Makes sense.”  He returned it with one of his own, tugging affectionately at my braid.

“So,” Mark opened a cabinet at his knees and pulled out a sterile sample cup, eyeing Tom humorously.  “You’ve done this before.”  The two men chuckled awkwardly.  “I hate this part,” he scrubbed a hand over his face before meeting my gaze.  “We have a waiting room I can take you to, or you are welcome to stay, whichever works better for the two of you.  If you are planning to… assist… I need to inform you that we don’t allow the use of lotions or lubricants, as they can contaminate the sample and possibly skew results.  Additionally, samples obtained through interrupted intercourse, including oral, are likewise unreliable.”  The rest of his breath left him in a self-conscious sigh.  “Do you have any questions I can answer?”

“Um,” I bit my bottom lip a moment to suppress the childish giggles tickling the back of my throat.  “No, I think I understand.  Tom...?”

“I’m good,” Tom answered quickly through his own tight-lipped grin. 

“Thank God,” Mark muttered softly, and the tension ebbed as we all laughed together.  “Well,” he rose from his stool.  “Please take all the time you need.  When you are finished, if you’ll please exit to the right, and bring the specimen to the lab intake desk at the end of the hall.”  He pulled open the door and offered us one last, tight smile before disappearing through it.

No sooner had it clicked shut when both Tom and I dissolved into quiet laughter.  “Not at all uncomfortable,” I mused as he crossed to stand in front of me.  He held out his hands, and I slipped my fingers into them.  He pulled me to my feet, into his arms. 

The wave of pure physical desire that washed over me was overwhelming; had he not held me upright, I never would have been able to keep my footing.  “Come here,” his whisper was husky as he led me to the exam table, lifting me up to sit on the edge.  I reached for his belt, but he arched away, guiding my hand to my side.  “That won’t take long,” he groaned.  “Let me enjoy this while I can.”  His fingers found the seams where my wraparound skirt came together and he pulled them apart, peeling them open to expose my thighs, my hips, my waist.  “So beautiful,” he murmured, gently stroking the bare skin above the tops of my stockings.  “I’ve missed touching you like this,” he leaned close, whispering against my parted lips.  “Have you missed me, love?”

I nodded, my eyes never leaving his, my breath hitching in my chest.  “So much, Tom…”

His fingers dipped down to my inner thigh, his touch slowly travelling higher and higher.  “You are so warm, Michelle,” he teased gently.  “I’m not even there yet, and I can already tell…” He angled his head to steal a soft, chaste kiss.  “Your panties are positively drenched.” He tickled my lips with the tip of his tongue.  “Aren’t they?”

I nodded obediently.  “Yes, Tom.”

“Such a good girl,” he groaned as his fingertips grazed the saturated fabric molded to my sex.  “Spread your legs for me, darling,” he instructed, his mouth descending to my neck.  I did as I was told, my fingers gripping the edge of the table.  “That’s lovely,” he praised, nipping the skin at the corner of my jaw.  “But there’s still something in my way.”  My head fell back on my neck, my mouth open in a silent gasp as he pressed his fingertips against my throbbing clit.  His voice was low, exhaled directly into my ear, rumbling like thunder in my brain.  “Move them for me.”

I had barely pulled the strip of silk aside before he was pressing up into me, as deeply as he could reach.  I had to bite back a scream as the sensation registered more intensely than I’d expected.  I wasn’t sure if it was the waiting, or the hormones, or a combination of the two, but it was powerful; sensitivity almost to the point of pain. And I wasn’t the only one who noticed; Tom’s entire body jerked as mine clenched and quivered around his fingers.  “Dear God,” he muttered through gritted teeth.  “What I wouldn’t give to fuck this tight little cunt right now…”  Again, I groped along his waistband, only to have him twist away once more.  “No… no.  Not yet.”

“Tom,” I turned my head so I could flicker my tongue against his lips.  “Please… let me touch you…”

His free hand wound my braid into his fist, and he tugged firmly until my throat was completely exposed.  “Michelle,” he snarled softly against the rapid pulsing of my carotid.  “Shut the fuck up and come on my fingers.”  A heartbeat later, his teeth sank into my flesh as his fingertips curled inside me.  Unable to resist his command, my body writhed in response, riding his hand in slow, sensual undulations.  I could feel my skin purpling under the sucking of his mouth, and I began to shake from head to toe.  He grunted, excited, his wrist pumping and twisting harder, faster, and I white-knuckled the edge of the table as I lifted my hips to meet every brutal thrust.  And then, just when I was certain he couldn’t wring any more pleasure from me, his thumb began to dance slow, sweeping circles around my aching clitoris.

“Oh, God, Tom…”

He recognized the guttural need in the gravelly tone of my voice; his mouth clamped down over mine just in time to muffle the helpless wail my climax pushed from my throat.  I grabbed his arm as I convulsed against him, over and over, until there was nothing left but the taste of him on my tongue and the sound of my own blood pounding in my ears.

It was the clink of his belt unbuckling that brought me back, my head snapping up in time to see the bulge of his erection straining his fly as he drew his zipper down.  “Please,” I whimpered.  “Let me…”

“Oh, Christ, love,” he groaned as I eased his jeans and boxers down his thighs.  “I swear… it won’t take much…”

He didn’t have to tell me.  I could see his pulse throbbing through every vein.  His head, already pushed free from his foreskin, was dark purple and weeping with need.  And below his rigid shaft, his balls hung heavy and full, flushed a deep crimson.  My last rational thought was to grab the cup from the counter and unscrew the lid, setting it on the table beside me.  Then I closed my fingers around him, savoring the animalistic groan that drifted from his chest as I stroked, down, up, twisting my grip over his head before sliding it down once more.  He bucked into my hand, sliding his fingers into his mouth to taste me on his skin.  Another firm caress and his head fell back on his neck, his eyes sliding shut.  “Oh, God, Michelle… now… yes… fucking hell… _now_ …” 

Awkward as it was, I managed to maneuver the cup into place, catching his release as it spilled from him in long, stuttering bursts.  He reached down to palm his testicles, helping me milk every last drop, swaying weakly on his feet.  Setting the cup aside, I jumped up to catch him, helping him collapse safely into the chair.  He dragged me to my knees on the floor in front of him, grabbing my neck and capturing my mouth in desperate, hungry kisses.  “I love you, Michelle,” he rasped against my lips, over and over.  “I love you so fucking much…”

A few moments later, he emerged from the fog, sleepy eyed, a goofy, satisfied grin on his face.  “If we weren’t in a clinic right now,” he slurred.  “I would count that as one of the hottest handjobs in history.”  I giggled in agreement, rising to straighten my dress as he tucked himself back into his jeans.  “Do you think other couples have that kind of fun… leaving their deposits?”

“I don’t know,” I answered vaguely, not really wanting to think about it.  As I shifted my hips to smooth the fabric of my skirt over my curves, a painful twinge vibrated through my insides, making me clamp my thighs together.  Tom’s brow furrowed, and he left his belt unbuckled to reach for my hand.

“Hey,” he squeezed my fingers.  “Are you okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” I nodded, shifting my weight experimentally.  When the pain didn’t return, I shrugged my shoulders.  “Dr. Deseje said the stim therapy might make things...” I groped for a word.  “Different.”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Tom rose from his chair to take me in his arms.  “Should I stay?  I can call Justin… we can pick up a day over the weekend…”

“No,” I waved my hand nonchalantly.  “I’m fine.  Really.”  I met his eyes as he examined me, his brow furrowed.

Finally satisfied, he stroked my hair back from my forehead before cinching his belt and tucking in his shirt.  “All right.  I’m going to take you home.  And you?”  He caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger.  “You are going to march yourself back upstairs and get straight back into bed.”

“Tom,” I scoffed at his concern.  “I’m on FST, I’m not sick.”

“No arguments, little one,” he scolded firmly.  “Back to bed.  Then maybe a nice hot soak in the tub.  If you write, I want you in bed while you do it.”

“Tom,” I giggled at his ridiculous worry.

“No argument!” He punctuated the statement with a quick but firm swat to my backside.  “I want you taking it easy today.  Don’t worry about dinner; I’ll grab something for us on my way back tonight.”  He bent his knees to meet my eye evenly.  “Am I understood?”

I shook my head in amused exasperation.  “Yes, sir,” I answered at last.  “I understand.”

“Good girl,” he kissed my forehead before helping me into my coat and handing me my scarf.  “You might want to put that on now,” he grinned wickedly, gesturing to my neck.  “You’ve got a little something…”

I spun on my heel to check my reflection in the mirror above the sink.  The evidence of his mouth on my skin was glaringly obvious, a large pink-purple bruise on the pale landscape just below my jaw.  It occurred to me that I should at least pretend to be irritated, but I was keenly aware that Tom knew me better than that.  I’d be admiring that mark for days, the way most women would admire a new necklace or other piece of jewelry, and we both knew it.  “Thanks a lot,” I grinned, wrapping the cashmere around my throat.

“Very welcome, darling,” he purred, leaning in to seal his lips over mine.


	7. Chapter 7

I wish I could say that spell was the toughest we had to go through on the new road we’d chosen. 

After riding the IVF roller coaster for a little over a month, I wasn’t exactly sure how much more I could endure.  Emma’s chemistries had responded to her prescribed hormone therapies with textbook accuracy.  Tom’s “fasting” sample had yielded more than enough vigorous swimmers to satisfy the recommended criteria.  And my blood work showed that all of the necessary hormone levels were well within the target range.  But three days before our scheduled harvest, Dr. Deseje scanned the ultrasound screen with narrowed eyes, her expression clinically neutral.  It didn’t matter; I’d come to know her nature well enough to know anything less than a grin was bad news.  Tears were already streaking down my cheeks when she turned to me with a shake of her head.  “It happens, Michelle.  The hormone flux…”

I cut her off with a wave of my hand, singularly uninterested in listening to a yet another detailed dissertation about my body’s failures.

“Hey,” she rolled her stool to the head of the exam table, forcing me to meet her eyes.  “Michelle, it’s not all bad news.  The stim worked.  The eggs aren’t there now, but they were.  I see at least a dozen recently ruptured follicles – the hormone flux just spurred a kind of shedding effect.  We discussed this, remember?”  I nodded miserably, and she lay a comforting hand on my shoulder.  “All we need to do now is adjust the Lupron dose, and I think I’m going to switch you from the Loestrin to Nor-QD…”

She launched into a lengthy explanation of the why’s and how’s, but I barely heard half of what she said.  I simply sat, nodding numbly until she pronounced me ready to go.  I cleaned myself up, silently thanking the gods of creation for waterproof cosmetics.  I drove home in a fog; I had just pulled into the driveway when I realized I’d forgotten to stop at the pharmacy to fetch my new prescriptions.  The woman who rang up my tab patted my hand as she handed me the paper bag.  “Best of luck, dear.”

I wanted to lunge across the counter and tear her throat out with my bare hands.  I settled for smiling and offering a tight-lipped, “Thank you.”

Tom texted me an hour later to remind me he’d be late that night, his plan being to put in extra hours in Carlisle over the next few days so that he could take some time to pamper me after the collection procedure.  Overwhelmed with relief, I scratched a pathetic note explaining why we wouldn’t be heading to the clinic later on that week after all, and left it taped to the banister for him to find.  I trudged up the stairs, took my adjusted dose evening injection, collapsed into bed, and sobbed myself to sleep.

The bedside clock read 3:17 a.m. when he crawled under the covers beside me.  I could taste the tears on his cheeks and the Jameson on his tongue; we wept bitterly in each other’s arms.  He wanted to make love, I needed to make love.  But my body, tired of being poked and prodded and penetrated and scanned, simply refused to cooperate.  He rocked me gently, kissing my forehead, assuring me that he understood.  I knew he did.  I wasn’t comforted.

Two weeks passed in a grey, foggy haze. I took my meds, endured the effects: the bloating, the cramping, the nausea, the skin that made me feel sixteen again, in the most dreadful way. With Tom no longer needing a gap in his schedule, and with our broken hearts needing some space, he threw himself into work with my blessing.  As a result, shooting wrapped earlier than expected; he skipped the farewell party to bring me roses and Chinese food.  My dry spell continued, and when I moved to try and take him into my mouth instead, he caught me by the shoulders, shaking his head in refusal.  “If you can’t, I won’t…”  I’m sure he was expecting me to smile, relent, cuddle into his arms and thank him for his compassionate understanding.  That is, after all, what any sane woman would have done.

I proceeded to lose my shit.

“Jesus Christ, Tom,” I yanked away from him, sitting back on my heels.  “Do you honestly think that makes me feel better?”  I’m ashamed to admit it now, but if I’m to be completely honest, I took a drink of vicious pleasure in the sight of his gobsmacked and slightly affronted expression.  “I mean, for fuck’s sake, can you just stop with the perfect supportive husband spiel?  Just for five minutes?  I mean, I wouldn’t want your head to explode or anything…”

“Where the fuck is this coming from?”  A trace of petulant whine in his voice, and I took another uncharitable sip.

“Oh, my God, do you really not know?” I demanded.  “Can you really not figure it out?  Come on, Hiddleston, you’re a smart guy.  Fire up that Etonian brain of yours and put two and two together.”

His features softened immediately, and he held out his hand.  “Oh, darling, I know you’re frustrated…”

“DO NOT!” I screamed, backing away from him so quickly I nearly fell off the bed.  Somehow I managed to get my feet underneath me, my fist balled angrily at my sides.  “Do not do that… don’t you dare do that…”

“Jesus Christ, Michelle,” his face was a mixture of worry and growing confused anger.  “Don’t do what?”

“The exact right thing!” I shrieked.  “You always do the exact right thing!  You always say the exact right thing, you always act the exact right way!  You’re fucking perfect and I’m a fucking failure and I can’t fucking take another minute of it!”

He sprang up from the bed, circling it in an attempt to close the distance between us.  “Michelle, you are not a failure…”

The scream that tore out of my throat cracked my voice in a way I knew would take days to recover.  “Stop it!  Stop pretending it’s an even playing field, Tom!  It’s not!  It’s not, and we both know it, and I’m tired of acting like we don’t.”  I continued to back away from him as he approached, his hands held out in front of him.

“Michelle, please.  Calm down.  Come here… we can talk about this, if you just calm down.”

“No!” I jerked beyond his touch and bolted into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. 

“Michelle,” he twisted the knob fruitlessly.  “Open the door.”

“No!”

“Michelle, open the door.”

“NO!”  I shouted.  “You aren’t listening to a word I’m saying!  Fuck off and leave me alone!”

“Michelle, I’m listening to you…”

“No, you’re not!  You hear the words that come out of my mouth and you plan out what to say in return.  That’s not listening, Tom.  That’s scripting.  And I don’t want to play this part in this little theater anymore.”

“Sweetheart, I know you’re upset.  I mean, of course you are; you’ve got more hormones raging through you than a One Direction concert…”

I shrieked again.  “Are you fucking kidding me?  Are you seriously, SERIOUSLY going to try and tell me you haven’t been holding on to that line, just waiting for the right moment to spring it on me?”

“I was hoping it would make you laugh!” I could hear the anger rising in his voice.  Finally.

“I DON’T WANT TO LAUGH, TOM!” 

All of a sudden, the door shook in its frame as he struck it with all his strength.  “Then what the fuck do you want, Michelle?”  He bellowed.  “You want me to agree with you?  Is that what you want?  Fine, Michelle.  Fine.  You’re a failure.  You’re empty, you’re hollow, you’re hopeless.  Is that what you want?  Is that what it’s going to take to get you to open the fucking door?”

“I’m not going to open the door…”

It rattled violently as he struck it again.  “What the fuck is it going to take, Michelle?  Do you want me to break it down?”

“I want you, for once, for just one minute, to stop saying the things you think you should say!  Stop doing the things you think you should do!  For one minute, just be completely fucking honest with me and admit you’re scared it isn’t going to work!”

“We don’t KNOW it’s not going to work, you stubborn little git…”

“Goddammit, Tom, would you _listen_ to me?  Admit that you’re scared!”

“I’m _not_ scared!”

“Right!”  Tears were flowing unchecked down my cheeks, making my broken voice quiver in my throat.  “That’s why you’ve been working sixteen, eighteen hour days since finding out the harvest was cancelled.”

“You wanted me to work!”  He roared.  “You pushed me to it, said the time and space would do us good!”

“Right!” I crowed triumphantly.  “You see?  It is me!  Everything that goes wrong…”

“Michelle…”

“Why can’t we fuck our way to a kid of our own?  Because of me!”

“Michelle, that is not what I said…”

“Why don’t we have a Benetton ad of adopted kids by now?  Because of me!”

“That is not what I meant, and you fucking well know it!”

“Jesus, Sebastian could sneeze at your sister right now and knock her up.  We’ve got the best fertility doc in the fucking world and a state of the art lab at our disposal, but nope, still no baby…”

The knob jiggled violently once more.  “Michelle, open this fucking door.”

It was my turn to pound on it from my side.  “Just tell me the truth!  Just admit that you’re scared…”

“NO!”  He slammed both fists against the wood panel hard enough to wrench one of the screws loose from the hinge.  “I will do a lot of things for you, darling, but I won’t fucking lie.”  His voice dropped in volume and in timbre; it positively vibrated through the door.  “You want a little truth, Michelle?  I’m not the one who’s scared… **you are**!  You’ve **always** been the one who’s scared _! **And I’ve always loved you anyway**._ ”  I heard him draw in a ragged breath.  “For fuck’s sake, Michelle… you’re fucking mine!  You’re my wife.  You’re the center of my universe.  You have been from the day I met you.  And I would give everything I have to father your child, to be bound up with you forever in something that lives and breathes beyond us…”  I jumped a little at the thud that signaled his weight falling against the door.  “But I can live without it.  I can live just you and I, the two of us, and sex and work and travel and rest.  I’m going through all this with you, for you… and you’re the one who won’t admit the truth!”

My voice was shaking as I asked.  “Exactly what truth is that, Tom?”

“That **you** want it.  That you want to be a mother.  That you want a baby.  Our baby.”

“Are you fucking daft?” I screamed against the door.  “Why do you think I’m doing all this?”

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S BLOODY FUCKING DAFT!”  I actually backed up from the force of his shout.  “Never once have you admitted you’re doing this at all for yourself!  Never once has any of this been about your desire, your need to have a child with me.  You hide behind what I want, you hide behind what Emma wants.  You hide behind what my mum wants, what your parents would have wanted.  You hide behind it, Michelle, because it’s okay if _we_ have to live with the disappointment of failure.  But as long as you don’t want it, as long as it isn’t about some deep, desperate longing of yours, not getting it doesn’t hurt as much.  Maybe you’re thinking that it’ll make you stronger, more able to help the rest of us cope, or maybe you’re just being really fucking selfish.  And maybe it’s just the FST, but goddammit, Michelle…”  His voice trailed off, and I jumped again when his fist hit the door once more.  “Goddammit, Michelle!”  I could hear the sound of his footsteps moving away, then the slam of the bedroom door. Thundering stomps down the staircase, kitchen cabinets being flung open and closed, the rattle of mugs crashing into one another before one hit the floor and shattered.

I hit the floor and shattered right along with it. 

I don’t know how long I lay curled on the bathmat, tears streaming from my eyes, every muscle convulsing under the barrage of broken sobs.  Every part of my body hurt, every inch of my skin was on fire.  I wanted to fist my hands in my hair; I tangled them in my-t-shirt instead, knowing I’d only yank until the strands pulled free in my fingers.

I was barely starting to compose myself when I heard his steps, slow and heavy on the stairs.  The creak of our bedroom door opening, and I pushed myself up, scuttling back against the wall of the tub and preparing the next round of bullets to fire with my cracked and hoarse voice when he insisted again that I open up.  I could hear his heavy sigh through the abused wood of the door, and a moment later, the soft scrape of paper sliding under the crack.  I waited a moment, two, and when I heard nothing else, I crawled over, picking it up.

_My Michelle,_

_I love you.  I am yours, you are mine.  And I love you._

_I cannot lie to you._

_I want to.  Fucking Christ, I want to.  I want to tell you I’m afraid this will all end in disaster should we fail to conceive.  I want to tell you that, without children, our own or otherwise, we flail, we falter, we fall apart._

_THAT IS A LIE._

_I didn’t pursue you, claim you, marry you because of anything else that might have come to me from you.  I pursued you, claimed you, married you because I WANT YOU.  Every inch, every curve, every smile, every tear.  You.  YOU.  Michelle Alannah O’Shea Hiddleston.  I don’t worry about not getting what I want because I ALREADY HAVE IT.  You, my love.  I have you.  I’m not afraid of failure, Michelle; I can’t be, because I have already succeeded beyond my wildest dreams.  You are mine.  I am yours._

_You want a baby.  You want MY baby.  You are my love, my life, and so I want this for you, as much as - no, fuck that - MORE than I want it for myself.  And I believe I can give it to you, someway, somehow.  I have hope.  It’s killing me by inches, the fact that I can’t give you hope as well._

_Who’s the failure now?_

_I don’t know what else I can say, other than I love you, and that I’m sorry I’m not afraid of never having children.  That doesn’t scare me._

_But the thought of losing you?  Fucking terrifies me.  I’m not perfect.  I’m handling all of this all wrong. And I’m afraid of losing you, beautiful girl.  I’ve always known, as long as I have you, I have everything, and all will be okay.  At this moment, I don’t have you.  You might as well be on the fucking moon as you are on the other side of this door. I don’t know what else to do.  I don’t know what else to say.  I need you to open the door, Michelle.  Don’t make me leave you alone and afraid.  I simply can’t bear it.  Please open the door, and hold me, be held by me, even if it won’t make everything okay.  I don’t know what else to say, so I beg you, read this carefully._

**_IRIS_ **

_Yours Eternally,_

_Tom_

The sight of that word, and my fingers went slack.  My hand was wrapped around the doorknob before the letter hit the floor.  He was leaning in the jamb, his eyes red-rimmed, his cheeks wet.  “My beautiful Michelle,” he sobbed softly, in wrecked relief, and I threw myself into his arms.  My tears soaked his shirt above his heart while his rained down into my hair.  He rocked me gently, back and forth, his hands stroking my shoulders, my back.  After a moment, he caressed my face, smoothed my hair back from my sweaty brow, and lifted my mouth to his.  My name, whispered over and over, punctuated by kisses so comforting, so soft, so sweet, it never occurred to me to be concerned by the wave of dizziness that crept over me, and by the time I registered the alarm in his voice, the darkness surrounding me was so cool and comforting, surrender was effortless.


	8. Chapter 8

“Michelle…”  Tom’s voice in my head, his lips close enough to brush my earlobe as he spoke, his nose nuzzling into my hair.  “Open your eyes, love.”  I could smell the warm spiciness of his cologne, could feel the warmth of his body seeping into mine as he spooned against my back.  I couldn’t think of a lovelier way to wake up, and yet all I wanted to do was roll away from him, pull the comforter over my head, and retreat once again into the deep, dreamless sleep he was coaxing me from.  I moved to do exactly that, flipping my wrist at the seam tangled around it.  “Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted at me gently, catching my fingers and moving my hand back to my side.  “Careful, darling… knock that loose and you’ll bleed all over the bed.”

_Bleed all over the bed…?_

My brow furrowed before my eyes opened; when they did, the sight that greeted me made me slam them shut again in a hurry.  “No,” I moaned, shaking my head desperately against the pillow beneath it.  “No, no, no… not again…”

The hospital bed creaked as Tom shifted to pull me closer, taking care to move the IV line running into my forearm as he did.  I looked up at him, lost and uncomprehending, tears of panic prickling at the corners of my eyes.  “Tom… what happened?”  He opened his mouth to answer, but I was already babbling over him.  “It was a cyst, wasn’t it?  Dr. Deseje and I talked about that, how in rare cases FST can cause ovarian cysts.”

“Michelle…”

“Was it just one?  Or was it both of them?”  I grabbed at his shirt, and he covered my hand with his own, laughing a little.  “Tom!  This isn’t funny… did they rupture?”  I was starting to hyperventilate, and I began to claw at the hospital gown wrapped around me, certain I would find my belly decorated by another winding scar when I pulled it up.  “Oh, my God!  Did I lose them?”

“Michelle…” Tom took my face in his hands and I clutched desperately at his wrists.

“Please, Tom, please,” I begged piteously.  “Please tell me I didn’t lose my ovaries, too!”

He stroked his thumbs gently over my cheeks, opening his mouth to speak.  But he was again cut off, this time by a voice from the doorway.  “What exactly is going on in here?”  We turned our heads in tandem to see Dr. Deseje closing the door behind her.  She gestured at Tom as she crossed the room to lean on the bedside table.  “You promised me if I let you get in that bed with her you would take care of her,” she scolded mildly. 

“I’m trying to,” Tom chuckled in his defense.  “But she woke up a bit out of sorts.”

“Hrmph,” Dr. Deseje grunted at him, cocking an eyebrow at me.  “Spoken like a schmuck who’s never come to in a hospital bed.”  Her expression grew more serious, and she squeezed my foot through the blankets.  “How are you feeling?”

My fingers continued to grope at Tom until he caught them and plaited them with his own.  “I…oh, God… well… scared.  Confused.  Jen,” I blinked at the doctor.  “What the hell…?”

“Michelle, take a breath.” She instructed, and I obeyed.  “Let me do a quick exam, and I’ll explain everything, okay?”

I looked up at Tom, who smiled, leaning down to kiss my forehead.  “Okay,” I conceded weakly.

 As she crossed to the sink to wash her hands, he slid carefully to his feet, helping me move onto my back and propping the pillow up behind my head.  He held my hand as Dr. Deseje flickered her penlight in front of my eyes, plugged her stethoscope into her ears to listen to my chest and belly, pressed her fingers along the landscape of my abdomen.  “Knees up,” she directed briskly, pulling some lubricant from her pocket.  “Want me to kick him out for this part?” She asked quietly.

“No,” I shook my head, clutching at his arm, squeezing his fingers. “It’s fine.”  One of the ceiling tiles above my head had been recently replaced; I fixed my eyes on the bright white pock markings as the doctor reached under the sheets to complete the exam.  I hissed, dismayed by the tenderness that twinged beneath her probing fingers, feeling tears slide hot and heavy from the corners of my eyes towards my ears.  Her touch withdrew and I straightened my legs under the linens once again, pressing my thighs together and wincing in worried anticipation. 

“So,” Jennifer returned to the sink for a final handwash before moving to sit on the edge of the mattress at my side.  “Before waking up here and freaking the hell out,” she spoke sternly, but I could see the twinkle in her eye.  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

I returned my gaze to the errant square above my head.  “I remember…”  My head ached, throbbed, then filled with a jigsaw collection of images, sounds.  Tom… pushing me gently away from his lap… goggling at me as I melted down… approaching me with arms held open as I backed away.  The bathroom door rattling in its frame.  Angry shouts and curses, my voice and his.  Glass breaking in the distance.  Words on a page, his loopy scrawl.  **_IRIS_**.  I heaved a watery sigh, swiping at my eyes.  “I remember a really bad night.”  I glanced over at Tom, who nodded.  “A really bad night.  We fought.”  I frowned, groping my way through the fog in my brain.  “But you were holding me,” my lower lip trembled.  “It was all supposed to be okay because you were holding me… and…”  I closed my eyes, trying to fill the gap, dropping my head onto the pillow and covering my face with my palms when I couldn’t.  “I don’t know…” I wailed softly.

“Sweetheart,” Tom sank down on the bed next to me, drawing me into his chest.  “I was holding you.  You blacked out.”  My hands fell limply to my sides, and his calm, cerulean eyes held mine steadily.  “I thought… you’d been crying so hard… you’d barely touched your dinner...  But I couldn’t rouse you.  You were sweating,” he paused for a moment to swallow audibly.  “Your eyes rolled back to their whites, and when I lay you on the bed, your belly was rock hard.  I phoned an ambulance…” he passed a shaking hand over the scruff on his chin.

“…Which was smart,” Dr. Deseje picked up the threads of the story, Tom smiling gratefully at her.  “And while he was waiting for them, he phoned me, which was even smarter.  I was in the ER before you were, and once I had all the information, all I needed was an ultrasound to confirm.”  I dragged my gaze to her, my teeth clamped on my lower lip, needing to know, terrified to ask.  “Ovarian hyper stimulation syndrome.”  The breath I’d been holding left me in a tidal wave of relief, and I pressed a hand to each side of my abdomen.  Sore.  Swollen.  Still there.  Tom tightened his arm around me and I leaned into him, and as he rubbed his hand up and down my shoulder, I was struck by the distinct feeling that there was something else, something they were waiting for me to figure out on my own.

After a moment, I did.

“OHHS…”  I cast my mind back to all the reading I’d done, all the risks and side effects we’d discussed.  “That happens… after ovulation…. Right?”

Dr. Deseje nodded.  “You were cascading again.”

I pressed an agonized hand to my forehead.  “But… I’m only two weeks in!  We hadn’t even discussed a date for collection…” I turned my face up to Tom’s, my breath starting to hitch irregularly in my chest.  “This is exactly what happened last time! I ovulated too soon… there was nothing left!”

“I know,” his smile was unbelievably soft, serene, and in a moment of complete surreality, I whipped my gaze to the pole that held my IV pump. 

“What the hell do you have me on?” I demanded.  “None of any of this makes sense… Am I just drugged out of my gourd?”  I watched my husband and my doctor exchange smiles, and had to fight the urge to grab them by their hair and knock their heads together.  “My fucked up body goes around the bend… AGAIN… lands me flat on my back in the hospital… AGAIN… and you two sit there grinning like idiots.”

“Michelle,” Tom caressed my cheek, kissed me tenderly.  “It’s done.”

He may as well have been speaking Cyrillic.  “What’s done?”  Laughing, he kissed me again, even as I arched away, resisting.  When he refused to abate, I put my palm against his face and pushed him away, narrowing my eyes at Deseje.  “Would you please tell me what is going on?”

She was unfazed by my irritation. “The ultrasound revealed six hyperstimulated follicles, as I expected.”  She paused to remove her glasses and tuck them into her breast pocket, and it occurred to me to ask her if Tom had coached her in affectations for dramatic purposes.  “It also revealed ten potentially viable oocytes.  So there we were, you out cold with a full egg basket, Tom pacing the floor with,” she cleared her throat, “some backup of his own…”

My eyes were flooding as I turned back to my husband, who dropped an admiring nod at the doctor.  “She turned to me and said, ‘Ever get the feeling the universe is trying to tell you something?’”

“Wait…” The breath that been hitching in my chest stopped all together. “Are you saying…?”  All of a sudden, Tom’s eyes were as wet as mine, his expression sagging in a mixture of exhaustion, relief, and unashamed happiness. 

Dr. Deseje’s hand on my knee drew my focus back to her as he buried his face in my hair.  “We harvested eight.  Two never even made it to the cultures; two looked to be underdeveloped.  They were disposed of outright.”

“And?”  I sat a bit straighter, gripping Tom’s hand so tightly his skin would bear the half moons of my nails for days.

“And,” her lips curled in a satisfied smile.  “After a generous donation from daddy here, the other four are slumbering away in the incubator, resting up for their date with Auntie Emma on Thursday.”

I clapped my hand over my mouth as Tom began to chuckle softly in my ear.  “You did it, love…”

Dr. Deseje pushed herself up from the bed, and I grabbed at the hem of her lab coat like a needy child.  “Viable?”

She leaned close, her forehead all but resting against mine.  “Fertilized.”

“Honest to God?”

She dropped a wink as she straightened, crossing to my medication pump and making a few adjustments at the digital controls.  “I want to keep you one more night.  The abdominal swelling is beginning to resolve, and your electrolytes are coming back into balance.  But I want to push more fluids, and I think you’ll appreciate the pain meds, not to mention the anti-emetics.  Show me a normal potassium level in the morning, and I’ll let your husband take you home.”  She stepped to the computer mounted by the door and began to type briskly.  “We’ll get someone in here to take your catheter out, but if you’re not up to pee in four hours, it goes back in.  Spotting, light bleeding is expected after collection, anything heavier, I want a call.”  She glanced over her shoulder at me.  “Understood?”

All I could do was stare at her, so it was Tom who replied, stroking my hair.  “Absolutely.”

I sank back into the bed, lost in a soft, buzzing haze.  I registered, barely, Tom’s kiss to my temple and his whisper that he was stepping outside to make a few phone calls.  A nurse appeared at my side to un-tether my bladder and re-secure my IV.  “How’s your pain, love?”

“Uh,” I honestly had to stop and think.  “I don’t think I have any right now…”

She laughed gently.  “Well, that’s good!  You just press that button if it changes.  The doctor wants you to eat, so I’m giving you a dose of the Zofran now.  Any nausea afterwards, you let me know… there are other things you can have…”  I nodded absently.  “And when you feel that first call of nature, please buzz me first, even if Mr. Hiddleston is here with you.  I need to see you up and about that first time, all right?”  She patted me on the shoulder before turning to inject the medication into my line.  She refilled my water pitcher, opened the blinds to allow the pale golden light of the setting sun to cut across the tile floor.  “Can I get anything else for you?”  It took me a moment, but I finally offered her a small smile and a shake of my head.  She excused herself quietly, leaving the door open as she bustled out into the hallway.

Tom filled the doorway a few minutes later, leaning against the jamb, his hands deep in his pockets.  His eyes were clear, shining, the skin at the corners crinkled with weary happiness.  “Hey there, beautiful girl,” he grinned.

My heart thumped in my chest, the way it always did when he looked at me that way.  Like there was nothing else in the world he’d rather be looking at.  “Hi,” I breathed, suddenly feeling stupid and shy.  “Come here,” I held out my arms.  “Please?”

He moved himself into the room, pushing the door closed behind him.  I scooted over as far as I could, and he kicked his shoes off before easing into the bed next to me.  I wound my free arm around his neck, our legs tangled together as I settled against his chest.  His fingers danced softly over the port and tubing taped to my wrist, he pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles.  “How are you feeling?” He asked quietly, his eyes searching mine.

I breathed a heavy sigh.  “Oh, God,” I burrowed into his chest.  “So much… too much…”

“Steady,” he soothed, rubbing my back.  “Slowly.”

I listened to the strong, steady throb of his heart, traced a fingertip along the taut line of one of his abs.    “I’m so sorry,” I whispered softly.

“Stop.”

“Tom…”

“Michelle,” he caught my chin and lifted my face to his.  “I mean it.  I’m not being sweet, I’m not being understanding.  I don’t pull rank often, and you know it.  But I’m speaking to you now as your Dom, and I’m telling you to stop.”  His voice was cool, firm, but there was so much warmth in his expression.  “It happened.  It’s over.  We can revisit the subject later, when we’re home and circumstances are more suited to such a discussion.”  He kissed my lips, feather light, chaste.  “I don’t want to think about how we ended up here.”  Another kiss, a little firmer this time.  “We’re here.  I have you.  You’re safe.  I love you.”

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn’t feel like crying.  I caressed the angle of his jaw, traced my thumb over his lips.  “I love you,” I manage to murmur before he sealed his mouth over mine once more, drawing the air from my lungs until I melted.  It was a head-splitting yawn that finally broke our connection; his, not mine.  He groaned a little when it subsided, shifting our bodies until he could lie with his head against my breast.  I combed my fingers through his golden curls, nuzzling the curve of his forehead.  “You must be exhausted.”  He chuckled in affirmation, and I hugged him tightly.  “My poor baby…”  I gasped a bit after the word left my mouth; he was beaming up at me when I looked down at him.  “My God… Tom… what do we… how…”

“Shhh,” he shushed me, snuggling closer, resting his hand over my heart.  “It’s done, Michelle.  For now, it’s done.  No shots to take.  No worry over ‘Is it working?’  For now, there’s nothing to do except have this moment, this little window of possibility.  To know that, no matter what comes tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that, at this moment, for this moment…” He trailed off, looking more angelically, peacefully beautiful than anything else I’d ever laid eyes on.

“We’re parents.” I finished in a shaky whisper.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES/WARNINGS: Trigger warning for D/s Practices

I was discharged from the hospital the following afternoon with a prescription for anti-emetics and strict instructions to suspend all IVF meds until further notice. My belly was still a bit swollen, the rest of my body stiff and sore. But my heart seemed to constantly race with the thought of how far we’d come, how close we were. So close…

The Thursday that Tom and I accompanied Emma to the clinic was rainy and cold, as days in March so often are in London. But I couldn’t help but notice the brighter green in the grass, in the leaves of the trees, the tiny buds dotting branches and bushes. Signs of new life everywhere. I thought of mentioning it to Tom, then decided against it, for fear of jinxing our efforts. It took less than half an hour to complete the transfer, and it was completely bizarre to sit next to her for those first quiet minutes afterwards, thinking of those two little clusters of cells that came from inside of me trying to find their place to grow inside of her.

And so began our Two Week Wait. Directed to avoid home pregnancy tests and, as much as possible, each other to reduce stress and increase our odds of success, I found myself absurdly thankful for the OHSS. Not only for directing attention to my shedding ovaries before they’d dropped all their eggs, but for giving me the perfect excuse to spend those first nerve-wracking days in bed. Tom spent most of them at my side, catering to my every whim until it was actually a little annoying. The morning he came back from his run to find me up and in the shower without assistance had him overly concerned and chastising. Until I grabbed him by his hoodie and dragged him under the spray with me, the wet material providing delicious friction as he fucked me to a screaming orgasm against the tile wall. It was the first moment of normal I’d felt since the beginning of our little science project, and all I could do was beg the universe to take pity on us.

Because I knew there was no way I could do it all again. 

Thankfully, the smile on Jennifer Deseje’s face that morning in her office told me I might not have to. We left the clinic with two copies of the ultrasound picture, two tiny white circles in a sea of static black. One would take up residence in Emma’s wallet. One would find its place front and center on our refrigerator door, a silly little symbol of hope.  
Many IVF couples will tell you the Two Week Wait is the worst part. I would respectfully disagree. For me, at least, it was the eight weeks that came after. The eight weeks during which we were told to go about our normal lives while waiting for our first “official” pregnancy ultrasound. Emma and I had grown so used to spending several days a week together; now we had to get used to spending them apart, because all we could do when in each other’s presence was obsess over every little detail of her physiology. It wreaked merry hob on my blood pressure, which only made me panic about what it might be doing to hers. So we began a new routine – a phone call in the morning, a text at night. Before long, I was conditioned – I couldn’t write until I’d heard her voice, I couldn’t sleep until I’d read her words.

Tom’s work was a pleasant distraction. Josie was one of the few people we’d let in the loop, mainly because we wanted a project that would keep him close to home. I had hoped they would revisit Corioles, but I knew his Hamlet would be nothing short of brilliant, especially since she had drawn him so deeply into pre-production. I sat in the balcony beside her one afternoon as he prowled the stage with the set designers, grinning when she leaned over to murmur in my ear, “He’s going to steal my Donmar from me one of these days, isn’t he?”

“No,” I reassured her with a nudge to her shoulder. “But he might open his own… give you a run for your money…”

Six weeks, and the itch set in, something under my skin, needling at me every moment that I was awake. My thoughts were constantly disjointed, disconnected. I’d rush to my laptop, filled with words and ideas that would vanish the moment my fingers hit the keyboard. If I was home, I wanted to be out. The minute I stepped out of my car, I wanted to be back in my living room or study. I always had a million questions for Dr. Deseje and Emma, but on the phone or in their presence, I couldn’t remember a single one. I missed Tom desperately when he was at the theater, but no sooner was he home when I found myself craving solitude once more.

And Tom didn’t appear immune to the stress this time, either. His sweet, funny nature endured, but it seemed slim, spread over too much surface, thinning in spots. His moments of introspective silence lasted longer and longer. The word “snippy” creeped into my vocabulary as one to be used when Diana or Sarah or Russell would ask after him. We would find each other every night with the curtain drawn around our bed, but it was clinical, prescribed, and served little more than to wring the last of the fatigue from our bodies so that we would have no choice but to sleep.

Seven weeks, and we were stalking around one another like feral cats, respectful of one another’s territory, yet spoiling for a fight. We hadn’t had moments like that in so long; they left me wrung out, exhausted. I couldn’t bring myself to bait him deliberately, and so that afternoon when set construction sent everyone in the cast home early, I was waiting for him in the doorway. His eyes went wide and dark at the sight of my short, sheer robe that did little to hide the fact that I wore only a scrap of lace as panties underneath; he downed the two fingers of his favorite scotch from the tumbler I offered in a gulp before taking me in his arms. His hair was silk beneath my fingers, his lips were fire against my skin. And after exhaling a soft moan as his teeth claimed the flesh of my neck just beneath my ear, I closed my eyes, quiet, calm.

“Tom… spank me… please…” 

His head jerked up, so much emotion in his face: worry, relief, hesitation, desire. “Sweet love,” he brushed my hair back from my forehead. “Are you certain?”

I nodded, my eyes never leaving his, even when I turned my head ever so slightly to press my lips to his palm. “Please?”

“You ask so sweetly,” he brushed his mouth over mine, smiling gently. “How could I refuse?” He kissed me again, just tickling his tongue against mine. “Bedroom. I’ll be right behind you.”

I was standing in front of our full length mirror, preparing to plait my hair, when he appeared in the doorway behind me, two bottles of water in his hands. “No.” His voice velvety soft, yet full of command. “Leave it down.” I nodded silently, watching his reflection as he crossed to his bedside table. He put the bottles down, side by side, then unbuckled his watch. His fingers hooked around the handle that would pull the drawer open. “What do you need tonight, love?”

I turned to meet his eyes directly. “Just your hand, Tom.”

The smile that curled his lips was peaceful, handsome, just a hint of predatory. He twisted the thick platinum band on his left hand before slipping it off his finger and laying it reverently next to his watch. He toed off his shoes before closing the distance between us, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling them up over his elbows with crisp precision. He stopped behind me, his chest against my back, his chin over my shoulder. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured quietly against my cheek, and I could have wept at the return of the husky gravel to his voice, the timber that turned my belly to molten lava and my knees to watery weakness. 

“I’ve missed you,” I managed to squeak as his hands circled my waist, finding the sash of my robe and tugging it loose. 

He eased the whisper of material over my shoulders, down my arms, letting it pool around my feet. “My beautiful Michelle,” his fingertips ghosted down the center of my back, the heat of his breath making me tremble as his mouth followed close after. On his knees behind me, he hooked his fingers into the waist of my panties, his tongue dancing swirls in the hollow at the base of my spine as he drew them down. Once I was completely bared to him, he rose to his full height once more, turning me to face him. “Tell me,” he urged, gently sweeping aside the hair that fell across my forehead.

“I’m yours, Tom.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Mine.” He lifted me into his arms, his gaze never leaving mine as he carried me to the bed. Setting me carefully upon it, he put his mouth close to my ear. “Hands and knees, love.” I nodded, moving obediently. “Cuffs?”

I shook my head, closing my fingers around the curved, polished slats of the headboard. “I can be honor-bound tonight.”

“Are you certain, little one?” He smoothed the spill of my hair over my shoulder, exposing every inch of my skin to his gaze. “It’s been awhile…”

I nodded, already breathing deeply to steady my racing heart. “I’m sure, Tom.”

“All right then,” he stacked the pillows beneath my head, and I gratefully lowered my cheek to the smooth, cool surface. I closed my eyes as the mattress shifted beneath his weight, shivered as his large, warm palms passed over my body as he knelt beside me. I leaned my weight into his hips, spreading my legs as the flesh between them began to swell and throb. “Sweet little bird,” one hand curled soothingly but firmly into my hair as the other smoothed over the swells of my ass. “Already dripping wet… And I’ve barely even touched you.” I bit my lip as he skimmed his touch along the inside of my thigh, allowing me to feel the heat from his hand, denying me direct contact. And then, a quick, light smack of his palm against the swell of my right buttock; I swallowed against the moan that rose in my throat. “Is this what you want?” He asked softly, lovingly.

“Yes, Tom,” I whimpered tremulously.

Another smack, just a twinge harder, to the left. “Is this what you need?”

My breath hitched in my chest. “Yes,” I repeated. “Please…”

His grip tightened in my hair, pulling my head back to arch my body. Another careful blow, then another, and my eyes flew wide as his hand dipped down to rub tenderly at my swollen lips. “Oh, God…” I pushed back into his touch, rocking my hips to the rhythm of his stroking until he pulled away. I could hear the quiet sounds of his mouth sucking my arousal from his fingers, and my body shuddered in need. “Tom…” I mewled hungrily.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he cooed, the fingers in my hair lightly massaging my scalp. “Trust me. I know where you need to be. Trust me to take you there.” He waited until my sigh of acceptance cued that I was ready, and he pulled my posture taut once more.

Closing my eyes, I focused on the rhythm of my breathing, in through my nose, out through my mouth. Every inhale drew him into me: the crisp, clean scent of the linen of his shirt, the citrus and cedarwood spiciness of his skin. He spanked me again; I gasped at the stinging, biting impact of his flesh against mine, then moaned softly at the blossoming heat that spread beyond the borders of his touch. He eased me into the experience, but by no means did he go easy on me; after only a few more strikes, my eyes were tearing, my bottom lip quivering. His hand descended again, and this time, he carefully slid one finger inside me, brushing his fingertip tantalizingly against my g-spot. A sob of pleasure dribbled from my lips, and he shifted his body against my side, letting me feel the rigid muscle swelling beneath his fly. “Almost there, love,” he murmured. “Are you with me?”

I nodded, feeling the tears slip down my cheeks to dot the pillowcase. “I love you, Tom.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he leaned over to brush a kiss to my temple. “I love you, too. Remember your word…”

“I do…”

The final push was nearly unbearable, his hand moving in a strong, sharp, random pattern: higher, lower, one side, the other, until the levees broke and all the pain and worry and anxiety spilled from my eyes, my shoulders shaking as the rest of my body went limp against the mattress. In an instant, Tom was gathering me into his arms, his lips sealing over mine to take my breath, warm it, and breathe it back into me. He was reaching for the water when need for him washed over me in a tidal wave, my fingers scrabbling at the buckle of his belt. “Michelle,” he chuckled warmly. “Hang on…”

“No, Tom.” Leather and metal finally separated and I fumbled open the button at his waist, clawing at his zipper. “Now… please… please, I need you to fuck me now.” I pushed his pants and boxers down together, whimpering impatiently at the sight of him flushed and swollen and straining towards my touch.

“Oh, Christ, darling,” he groaned as I spread my legs, pulling him desperately into the cradle of my body. He wrapped his fingers around my wrists and lifted them back above my head. His knees braced against the bed between my thighs, and with one fluid roll of his hips, he was inside me, deep, and pressing deeper. I bucked upward sharply, crying out in bliss as his lips crashed down onto mine. I sucked the lingering traces of scotch from his tongue, shivering as he pulled back to nip teasingly at my bottom lip. “Eager little minx,” he purred before burying his face in my neck. My eyes rolled back in my head as his teeth closed on my skin. My walls clenched around him, and he released me long enough to growl a warning in my ear. “Don’t you dare…”

Dismayed, thrilled, my body bowed beneath him, my hard nipples chafing deliciously against the fabric of his shirt. He feasted on my neck and throat for long moments before moving lower, tonguing wet circles first around one throbbing peak before biting down carefully and tugging at the other. “Fuck,” I whined plaintively. “Tom…”

“No, darling,” he denied, his voice so calm and in control. How the fuck does he do that? “I’m nowhere near finished with you…”

I lost myself in him as he flowed into me, retreated, surged again, long and thick and hard and hot. Quick jerks of his hips that teased the head of his cock against my g-spot melted into slow, deep thrusts that ground so firmly against my cervix that black stars exploded across my field of vision. Trusting me to keep my hands where he put them, he slid his down my arms, cupping and squeezing my breasts until my nipples were so swollen the mere dusting of his breath over their tips made me whimper in pleasure. Rolling one between his thumb and forefinger, he suckled hungrily at the other until the responding pull of the muscles below my waist made him grunt in delight.

He pulled out of me suddenly, and my sob of disappointment erupted into a shriek of ecstasy as he slid down the bed to bury his face in my wet, open sex. His tongue lapped hungrily at each quivering fold before thrusting into me, his fingers finding and teasing the hardened bud of my clitoris. My thighs trembled on either side of his head, and I could feel the perspiration beading up on my skin as I fought to control the desire to explode beneath his touch. “Good girl,” he praised. “Not until I say.” I bleated an inarticulate response, and his velvety laugh vibrated through my core. Closing his lips around the swollen little pearl, he slowly pushed two fingers deep, curling them until every muscle in my body thrummed like live wires. 

“Oh, God, Tom, please,” my head thrashed from side to side against the pillows, sweat and tears mingling as they slid down my cheeks. “Please… please…”

 

“Please what, love?” Cool, casual. He could have been asking me the time.

“Please let me come,” I begged. “Let me come for you… please…”

“Oh, you’re going to come for me, love,” I could hear the grin in is voice as his fingers thrust harder, faster. “You’re going to come… and come… and come…” He flickered the tip of his tongue against my clit and I could hear the grinding in my head as I gnashed my teeth together. “My sweet, obedient little Michelle,” he kissed me tenderly. “Now.” As he spoke, he filled me with a third finger, and as the pads of his fingertips pressed rhythmically against my g-spot, the whipcrack of my climax bowed me completely up and off the mattress, my throat so taut I couldn’t even scream. 

The first electric shock had barely begun to subside when he turned me on my side, spooning behind me and filling me with one beautifully brutal thrust, his arms winding up around my shoulders to pull me more firmly against him. “Oh, Christ, you feel good.” He bucked forward, harder and harder. I reached back to grab at his hips as he pressed his mouth against my ear. “Your hot, sweet little cunt… so wet… so tight around my cock…” His breath stuttered in his chest as another spasm tightened my body around him, and he slipped one hand between my legs to gently tease my clit once more. I moaned helplessly, feeling his grin curl against my neck. “I already told you, love… over and over and over…”

And he was right. He played my body to crescendo after mind-blowing crescendo, until I was nothing but a huddled, shaking heap in his arms. Only then did he relax his iron grip of control, spilling into me in hot, bursting jets of heat that dripped down my thighs when he finally withdrew, my name falling from his lips like the spring rain that had begun to patter softly at the window. 

Basking in the afterglow, he lay on his back, my body draped across his chest. He reached for the water, I reached for his ring. He smiled sleepily as I slipped it back onto his finger, pressing my lips to it once it was in place. “I love you, Tom,” I traced a fingertip over his heart. “Thank you.”

“I love you, too, little one.” He tugged gently on a lock of my hair. “And you never have to thank me. This,” he grinned in sated satisfaction. “Brilliant. Truly. My smart girl.” My cheeks flushed under the praise, and I burrowed into the space beneath his arm. “One more week,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

I shivered, tightening my arms around him. “One more week.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Michelle, my love, are you going to sleep the entire day away?”

Tom’s voice, soft and sweet in my ear, rumbling against my spine as he pulled me back against his chest.  I groaned beneath the curtain of my hair; he smoothed it away from my face with a chuckle as I blinked my eyes open, squinting in the bright white sunlight.  “Sleep the day away?” I whined, elbowing him playfully in the stomach as I read the bedside clock.  “It’s barely eight a.m.  And this is supposed to be a vacation,” I rolled over beneath the linens to cuddle myself into his arms.  “Remember?” 

He was still dressed in the white t-shirt and navy blue shorts he’d thrown on for his early morning run, having returned to me in bed before hopping into the shower.  I buried my face in his neck, inhaling the scent of his warm, clean sweat and the salty sea breeze that still clung to his skin. 

The last-minute trip to Cayo Espanto had been his idea. He’d swept into the flat that afternoon where I was sitting in stunned silence, staring into the distance at nothing in particular, declaring us to be overwrought from baby drama and producing the tickets and itinerary with a flourish. Two days of packing and scrambling phone calls and emails to rearrange schedules later, we were tucked into an amazing overwater bungalow with little more than sand and surf as neighbors.

“It is a vacation,” he murmured, pianoing his fingers up and down my bare back, sending goosebumps flocking over my skin.  “And you’re missing it, lazy bones.”  He landed an affectionate smack on my ass.  “The sun is in the sky… there’s a beautiful white sand beach just outside those doors…”

“Yes,” I conceded before drawing a leg up over his hip.  “But there’s a great big, warm, soft bed right here,” I purred, teasing the tip of my tongue against his earlobe.  “With a naked, desperately horny woman in it.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, intrigued, rolling onto his back and pulling me with him.  “Desperately horny, eh?”

I nodded, straddling his hips and sitting up, pushing my hair back from my face and letting the sheet fall away from my body.  “Desperately,” I mewled, pouting my bottom lip. Grinning, he reached up to tug on it gently before tracing it with his thumb.  I nibbled gently at his fingertip, my stomach filling with butterflies as his eyes filled with hungry mischief.

“Well, then,” he straightened his body underneath me, propping the pillow more firmly under his neck.  “Show me.”  Gazing down at him through lowered lashes, I slipped my hands down between my legs, only to stop short when he shook his head.  “Really show me.”  His hands on my hips gave a gentle tug forward and I could feel myself flushing crimson.

“Tom,” I whined softly.

“Michelle,” he replied sternly, but with undeniable mirth dancing in his blue irises.  “You started this.  You’ll do as you’re told, or you’ll spend the rest of the day,” he crooked a playful eyebrow.  “Desperately unfinished.”

Unable to stop myself, I rolled my eyes, only to be rewarded with a sharp slap to my backside.  “Ow,” I pouted briefly.  “All right already…”  He laughed warmly at my petulance, offering me his hands for balance as I eased myself up above him.  I was trembling a little when I looked down at him, and he smiled sweetly.

“You may close your eyes for now, love.”  He murmured, his tone husky.  “Grab the headboard.”  I nodded gratefully and obeyed.

A bare moment later, I shivered as the scratchy softness of his new beard scraped along the inside of my thighs, his breath warm against my swelling, unfurling folds.  “So beautiful,” he hummed, his lips teasing against my flesh, making my back arch and my grip tighten on the smooth polished wood beneath my fingers.  “So soft and wet,” he nuzzled at me with feather-light chaste kisses , let his delighted chuckle vibrate through me.  “Always so deliciously wet.”  The tip of his tongue traced the seam of my lips, just the slightest hint of pressure, making every muscle below my ribcage clench in agonized desire.  The air filled with the musky scent of my arousal, and I felt his grip on my legs tighten ever so slightly.

And then my head was too heavy to hold upright; it fell back on my neck as his tongue forced me open, strong and certain and seeking.  It dipped just to the top of my opening, flickered for a moment, then swept up, stopping just below my clitoris, teasing at the root to make it swell and harden.  His head was angled perfectly to taunt me just right, his nose and chin held just beyond my reach, giving me no more than exactly what he wanted me to have.  I drew in a deep breath, exhaled in a needy sigh, and silently willed him on.

“Such a good, patient girl,” he praised, lapping at me again and again and again.  “Your little cunt is so exquisite, Michelle.  So open, so eager… throbbing… aching…”  He nudged the tip of his tongue just inside my entrance, making my mouth fall open in a hungry gasp.  “I could have you like this for hours,” he purred, probing a bit deeper.  “Hovering above me…”  Swirling just inside the tight ring of muscle.  “Tasting you at my leisure…” A few, firm strokes over my inner labia.  “While you quake and whimper and moan.”  I could feel his grin as he turned his head, biting gently at my inner thigh.  “Is that what you want?”

My eyes were still screwed shut, my head still hanging backward as I shook it furiously.  “No… please, Tom… no…”

Another tender nip, closer to where my leg met my body, and he sucked carefully for a moment.  “What do you want, Michelle?”

“I…” my own tongue darted out to wet my parched lips.  “I want to come in your mouth.”

“Hmm.”  Disinterested, aloof.  He turned his head to leave an identical mark on my other thigh, and my mouth curved down in dismay.  I knew what he wanted to hear; for the life of me, I have no idea why, after so many years together, it was still so hard to say.

“T-Tom…”

“Yes, love?”  His lips grazed my clit, making me jump and twitch.

“P-p-please…”

“Please what, my sweet?”  An infuriatingly loving kiss to my lips.

I could feel my cheeks burning; I knew the flush spread from the roots of my hair to the hollow of my throat.  “I want to ride your gorgeous face.”

His breathy chortle was filled with affectionate triumph.  “Hands,” he instructed.  I released my iron grip on the headboard and gave him my wrists, allowed him to guide my fingers into his golden curls.  “Do it, love,” he whispered.  “Take what I give you.”

With that, he thrust his tongue as deeply as he could, his lips groping ravenously at my folds.  The air tore out of my lungs in an inarticulate sob, and I clutched at his scalp, holding him so that I could grind against his chin in an effort to take him deeper.  He hummed his approval into me and I twisted my hips at the sensation.  His arms hooked over my hips, his hands pulled at me, spreading me wide to expose every inch of my quivering flesh.  “God, yes,” he muttered, suckling firmly, tugging at me with his mouth.  “There’s my wanton little minx.”  He dove back in, pumping his tongue as he would his fingers or his cock, and I screeched softly, pulling at his hair. 

The guiding pressure from his arms around me helped me find his rhythm and match it, and I lost myself in the fluid undulation.  My ears filled with the wet, sucking sounds of his mouth working over me, the low, controlled grunts that drifted from his chest to spur me on, my own whorish, breathy gasps.  He would curl his tongue inside me, lifting his head to increase the pressure, then withdraw to lap hungrily at each swollen petal.  He wouldn’t fill me again until the tug of my fingers against his scalp and grinding twist of my hips against his face demanded it.  I was flooding over his lips and chin, and the slickness of my fluids on his cheeks only served to heighten the tingle of the scrape of his beard against my sensitive skin.

The tide of my orgasm began to build in the pit of my stomach, and I reflexively lifted away.  His snarl of displeasure made my eyes snap open; he shook his head firmly when I looked down at him.  “Don’t you dare fucking stop now.”

“Oh, God… Tom…”

“Shut up, Michelle,” he rasped.  “Shut up and come on my face.”

Ridiculous lingering modesty made me want to close my eyes, turn my head away.  But the quiet, calm command radiating from the depths of his dark, fiery irises held me fast.  Something overtook me, and I tightened my grip in his hair, shifted against him until every angle of his mouth and jaw pressed against me as I desired.  His name cascaded from my lips again and again as I rode him to the crest, my body rolling, my hands and thighs keeping him in place.  Then, just as the spark of my climax ignited, he twisted free from inside me, closing his lips over my forgotten clit and sucking firmly.

The intensity of my orgasm wracked my body with tremor after electric tremor, forcing weak, surrendering sobs from my throat in a low, airy chorus.  My back arched, brutally taut, and as I fell back between his legs, his mouth followed me, unrelenting, drawing every hitch and spasm and shudder from me until I was limp and babbling.  I was vaguely aware of the bed shifting, of the whisper of fabric as he stripped his clothes away. His hand caught the back of my head, and the taste of myself on his lips made me moan out loud as he sank into me, hot, hard, and straining. 

“Fuck…” he muttered into my mouth.  “So fucking tight…”  He pushed against me hard, as if to emphasize his point, and the pain-pleasure twinge of his head against my cervix made me keen softly in gratitude.  “You like that, don’t you?”  He grinned as I nodded breathlessly, bucking into me again.  “You like it when I ride you hard… deep…”

“Yes, Tom,” I gasped, my eyes glazing over as he thrust once more, brutal, beautiful.  “Please…”

“That’s it, little one,” his forehead pressed against mine, his words heat flowing over my lips.  “Beg me for more.”

“Oh, God, Tom… please,” I wailed quietly, desperate, grateful.  “Please… fuck me hard… fuck me so hard… please…”

His hips stuttered briefly against mine, and he lifted one of my legs over his shoulder in a bid to keep control.  “Yes,” he bit down on his lower lip as his pubic bone pressed against mine.  “Oh, fuck… yes…”  The unrelenting stimulation at my core made my walls flutter and clench around him, and as much as I loved him in control, it was thrilling to watch his hunger, his desire overtake him.  “Fuck… there you are… oh, fucking Christ, Michelle!  Tell me, love, tell me now…”

“Oh, fuck, Tom!”  I cried out, undeniable joy in my voice.  “I’m yours, Tom, I’m yours…”

With a growl of lusty determination, he forced us both to the mattress, pummeling my body with his.  The dam inside me let go in a rush, and my eyes rolled back in my head at the satisfied bellow that erupted from deep in his gut.  His teeth sank into my neck, and I clawed at his back as he spilled into me, his hips spasming with every spine-tingling spurt.  Finally, he collapsed into my arms, shuddering, shaking, my name from his lips tickling the hollow beneath my ear.

I savored those long moments of afterglow, his heart slowing against mine, his cock softening inside me, his hands stroking, his words soothing.  Our lips met, parted, we laughed softly into each other’s mouths.  He stroked my sweat-damp hair back from my brow, repeating “I love you… I love you,” until I smothered the words with my hand, giggling as he nipped at my palm.  After a moment, he noticed the intensity in my gaze, his brow furrowing in amused curiosity.  “What’s that look about?” He nudged me playfully.

“You know I don’t need anything else in the world but you, right?” I asked quietly.

“Michelle…”

I covered his mouth once more.  “You know that, right?”  I stared him down.  “I don’t care what we have or what we don’t have.  I don’t care what we find, I don’t care what we lose.  As long as I have you, Tom,” I stroked my fingertips over the bow of his lips.  “I don’t need anything else.”

“Sweet love,” he smiled down at me, full of love and tenderness.  “You have me.  You are mine, and I am yours.  Forever.”  He kissed me softly.  “You have me.”

“Good.”  He chuckled at my childlike affirmation, wrapping his arms around me as I snuggled into his chest. 

The silence between us lingered another moment, before a yawn stretched my mouth and drooped my lids.  He laughed ruefully.  “We aren’t getting up now, are we?”

“Huh-uh,” I shook my head, drawing the sheets up over us.  “Nap.”

“Then swim?” He teased as I cuddled against him.

“Maybe,” I sniffed.  “Nap first.”

“We do have to eat sometime…”

“Tom?”

“Love?”

“Nap.”

“Yes, love.”

We shifted together on the bed so I could spoon back against his chest.  His long arm stretched to the bedside table, snagging his phone.  He opened up the audio files, selecting the thirty-second snippet he’d constructed into a minutes long continuous loop.  The soft, rapid whooshing filled the air, the tiny heartbeat pumping away.  I smiled as his lips brushed my temple, his words warm in my ear.

“Sleep sweet, mummy.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR D/s PRACTICE Smut. NSFW. Okay, gang, things are a little different in this one. Someone else would like a chance to tell some of the story, and I think I’ve kept him waiting long enough. I considered publishing this as a stand-alone or a one shot, but was reminded by someone much wiser than I am - this is their story. This is their life.

She’d been on tenterhooks for weeks. 

She’s grown so much in our years together, my sweet, beautiful Michelle.  Tying her life to mine, putting herself in my hands; learning to lunge for and hold on to the things that make her happy and fulfilled, and to let go of it all when it gets to be too much.  I feel wistful at times, watching her moments of success when she independently navigates her challenging nature.  I would never stop her from finding her own strength, but I must admit that I crave being the one to keep her in line.  Sharing in the catharsis of bringing her through the fog and into the light… There’s no other feeling in the world like it.  Sometimes I can see it coming, the storm behind her forehead knitting her brows together; sometimes I’m distracted by the white noise of my own professional life, and therefore it surprises me.  But it almost always culminates in those wide coffee eyes meeting mine from underneath those impossibly long sooty lashes, her straight strong teeth closing on that plump pink lip I adore so much.  Her voice, lyrical, soft, and, even after all this time, shy…

_“Spank me, Tom…”_

Music to my ears.   I’ll tease, I’ll hint, I’ll threaten.  But I never simply take her in hand; we’ve found she learns the lesson so much better if she’s an active part of the exchange, rather than my passive hostage to process.  She’s a tough egg to crack, my Michelle.  She had years of practice battening down her hatches before I came along, her life so many stormy seas.  She can bend beneath the winds, but bending isn’t enough.  She needs to break, safely, and be put back together.  That’s my duty.  My pledge.  My honor.  And that’s why, on that particular afternoon…

She’d had a pout on for a few days.  With Emma six months along and growing every day, maternal instinct kicked in, as we’d known it would.  And for most of the week, we were lost in the bliss of setting up our new house: unpacking the last of the boxes, hanging the last of the pictures.  I made no progress in the way of uncovering the secret that only Jen Deseje knew, despite my teasing hints that it would be easier to decorate the nursery if we knew whether our little apple had a stem or not.  She tossed her braid at me, saying the bright primary blues and reds and violets would work for a girl or a boy, unequivocally refusing to let me call and find out which was gestating in my sister’s belly. 

The problem started in the guest room, when she turned to me and said that we should bring Emma to the house to live with us the last few months of the pregnancy.  I had several reasons for saying no, not the least of which being that I loved having my wife, her supple body, and her sweet (and often quite loud) voice all to myself, and I knew those days were numbered.  But more than that, I knew the secret she tried so hard to keep hidden from the rest of us: as much as she loved and adored my sister for the gift she was giving us, as much as she knew it mattered not a whit to me which vessel would bring our child into the world, extended periods of time with Emma left her feeling inadequate and sometimes bitterly envious.  She didn’t think I saw it, but I did: the way she would absently rub her own flat stomach with one hand while pressing the other to the swollen lump of Emma’s to feel a waving hand or a kicking foot, the way she would scrutinize her breasts in the mirror after a shower.  I could hear it in the little recordings she would make, reading storybook after storybook, singing lullaby after lullaby for Em to pipe through headphones into her belly as she slept so the baby would know its mother’s voice.

I made my refusal gentle and sweet; I told her three months was too long, but that maybe the last two or three weeks would be appropriate.  She listened, pushed back a bit, her stubborn little chin jutting just a smidge above the delicate lines of her throat.  “Michelle,” I’d purred, calm but dark.  “No argument.”  She nodded, finally relenting, and we returned to our nesting.

The sulk came on slowly: fewer words spoken in conversation, longer stretches of silence between, that plump little lip that drives me so crazy growing more and more pronounced.  The second night after I’d denied her request she didn’t follow me to bed, sat at her laptop instead, fingers drumming over the keyboard.  I woke at three a.m. to find her asleep in the recliner in the baby’s room; I covered her with a fleece and kissed her forehead. 

The day that followed was nearly unbearable.  She refused to look at me for more than a second or two, and when she did, her eyes were red-rimmed and stormy.  She wouldn’t speak, save to answer direct questions, and used as few words to reply as possible.  I waited as patiently as I could for her to approach, to ask. 

She never did. 

And so, after watching her push her supper about on her plate with the tip of her fork, I wiped my mouth with my napkin and left the table, stopping by the fridge to grab a bottle of water before heading up the stairs.  I kept preparations to a minimum: dimmed the lights, turned down the bed, put the water and the ibuprofen on her nightstand, pulled the cuffs from their tuck spots beneath the four corners of the boxspring and lay them in plain view on the mattress.  I could hear water running, dishes clattering in the sink; rolling my cuffs up to my elbows, I waited for the din to subside before I called down the stairs. 

“Michelle?  I need to see you in the bedroom, love.”

I could hear her grumbling under her breath, then the slam of a drawer.  I chuckled to myself, unbuttoning the front of my shirt, unbuckling my watch.  The last thing I did before hearing her footsteps on the stairs was slip my wedding ring off my finger, placing it carefully next to my phone.  I was waiting for her at the foot of the bed when she appeared in the doorway.  She froze when she saw the scene I had set, and for a moment, I was worried she’d resist.  But when she drew a deep breath in through her nose, exhaled through her mouth, her shoulders relaxed, and I knew my instincts had been right.  “Come here, sweet,” I directed, my hand open and extended.

She closed the distance between us on the balls of her bare feet, smooth and silent, slipping her slender little fingers into my palm.  I drew her close, lifted her gaze to mine with a fingertip under her chin.  Her eyes were just starting to glaze in the smoky, sleepy manner that let me know she was opening to me; I had to ignore the way it made my cock twitch inside my trousers.  “I’ve been a brat,” she confessed quietly.

“You have,” I nodded.  “Pouty and petulant.”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” she murmured, sweet and sad.  “I’m not handling this very well.”

“That,” I brushed my lips lightly over hers.  “Is why you have to let me help.”  She nodded silently, and I brushed back the hair that fell across her forehead.  “Word?”

“Iris.”

“Good girl.”  I kissed her once more before releasing her, moving to sit at the end of the bed.  “Undress for me, darling.”

Her fingers were trembling as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, pulling it from the waist of her jeans.  I let my eyes crawl over her leisurely, imagining how her gasp would echo in my ear when I bit down on her neck, how her skin would taste when I dipped my tongue into the hollow of her throat, how the scent of her perfume mingled with her arousal would fill my nose when I breathed her into me.  Her body arched ever so slightly as she reached back to flip open the clasp of her bra, and I shifted a bit as the slowly increasing girth below my waist began to raise its head. 

_Steady… all that in good time…_

I ran my tongue over my lips as lace and satin fell to the floor, exposing her breasts.  Full and firm, tipped with coral pink flesh already pebbled from excitement and the slight chill in the air, I smiled to myself, knowing they’d be flushed, their peaks red and throbbing before I was finished.  She was unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans as I moved my gaze down.  Her belly hitched as if I had touched her, and I knew she was fighting not to cover herself with her hands.  She may never overcome that: her self-conscious nature that tells her the swell beneath her navel is a little too pronounced, her hips a little too wide and round, and I know she’ll never completely believe me when I tell her her scar, to me, is a thing of absolute beauty.  It’s frustrating, but I forgive her.  After all, if she saw herself as perfect as I see her, she’d be damn near insufferable.

She pushed the faded denim down her legs, stepping free of it and pushing it aside with her foot.  Her panties were snug and simple, her beloved purple, satin and lace with a flirty little bow at each hip.  I could see the fabric between her legs already dark and damp.

My Michelle.  Always so eager.  “Over my knee, darling.”

She has moments of such utter submissive perfection.  Head up, but eyes cast down.  Moving with pride but without arrogance.  Putting herself in my hands with such exquisite trust, even as she trembles with anxious anticipation.  She’s a drug, my own personal vice, and it’s only the knowledge that it’s my responsibility to keep her safe and grounded that keeps me from losing myself in her entirely. 

The warmth of her body radiated into mine as she draped herself prone over my lap, dragging her hair over her shoulder to reveal the creamy landscape of her back.  I could feel the moist heat of her breath through the linen of my trousers as she rested her cheek against my thigh; another rush of blood south, and I had to close my eyes briefly to compose myself.  I slipped my fingers into the depths of her hair, lightly tugging at the roots.  Goosebumps flocked over her pale skin; I soothed them away with the flat of my palm.  “My Michelle,” I cooed as I stroked over her spine, pianoed my fingertips over her ribs.  Her ticklish nature made her wriggle and squirm, and the delicious friction grazed against the head of my near-fully erect cock.  I tugged at her hair again, my voice gentle but firm.  “Hold still.”

“Tom,” she whined softly.  “It tickles.”

I smacked her once on her left cheek, making her yelp in surprise.  “Any more complaints?”  A warning, but we could both hear the smile in my voice.

“No, Tom,” her own voice tiny, acquiescent.

“I thought not,” I sniffed playfully.  “Now be a good girl and pull your panties down for me.”

Few things excite me as much as watching her bare her luscious curves for my touch.  I could feel myself leaking against my own cotton boxers, and I licked my lips to combat their sudden dryness.  I ran my hand over one buttock, then the other, smiling at the way her body bowed beneath the contact.  I listened to her breathing, waited to hear her fall into the rhythm that signaled she was ready.  Once she had, I lifted my hand and brought it down quick, brisk. 

Her first noises were as they always are:  yips, squeals, higher pitched and staccato, over almost as soon as they begin.  Response to the bite of my flesh against hers, the sting that needled the surface, crisp and sharp.  My handprints were clear on her curves, red against white.  Our opening rhythm, slap and retreat, slap and retreat.  After a few moments, her breathing faltered, and I could see her lungs hitching in her chest.  I reached down between her legs, I nudged her thighs apart with my knuckles.  She was slick and warm, and she sobbed softly as I traced a fingertip along the seam of her lips.  “Sweet girl,” I murmured softly, teasing my touch along the folds that opened in silent, desperate invitation.  Her hips canted back, and I withdrew with a gentle chuckle as she whimpered.  “Oh, come now, love,” I teased.  “You know quite well you haven’t earned it yet.”

“Tom…”

“Michelle.”

After a moment, she wound her arms around my leg and buried her face in my thigh.  Surrender.  “There’s my girl.” 

I resumed spanking her, my pace a little quicker, my blows a little harder.  Her exhales came in slow, sweet moans, and I stroked my palm over the prints I left behind after every few strikes, calming, comforting, watching the expanse of her skin flush as the heat from her rising blood spread beneath it.  I smiled to myself as I looked down on her: beautiful, marked, mine.  Taut, wound tight from the increase in intensity, I could feel the emotion building inside her, and I moved my hand in her hair, caressing softly to soothe her.  “That’s it, love,” I encouraged her quietly.  “My good girl, my brave little bird…”  Her head thrashed from side to side, I could feel her biting her lip against my leg.  A few more blows and I reached down again.  Her sweet cunt was dripping, and I pressed my middle finger deep, the sensation like dipping into molten wax.  The textured surface of her g-spot was already starting to swell, and she convulsed in my lap as I grazed it lightly with my fingertip. 

“Oh, Michelle,” I groaned.  “It’s going to be so fucking good tonight.”

“I love you, Tom,” she wept against my knee.

“I love you, too, my sweet.  My perfect little wife, my delicious little toy...”  I fingered her carefully for a few more seconds before withdrawing again.  “Nearly there, darling, just a little more,” I reassured her before sucking the salted honey of her nectar from my skin.  “Are you ready?”

She nodded weakly.  “Yes, Tom.”

“I love you, Michelle,” I leaned over to press a kiss to the nape of her neck.  “Christ, I love you so much…”

The last push is always the hardest.  I can’t rely on the picture my eyes see, because she trembles so violently, so quickly.  More than once I’ve stopped short, certain she’d reached her limit, only to watch her thrash in frustration as the floodgates held fast.  The force I had to use when I resumed in those cases was almost too much for my comfort; it was only the knowledge that I’d be leaving her in emotional agony that prevented me from safeing out.  I’ve learned to close my eyes, to rely on what I hear from her lips, what I feel from her body.

I was pleased to discover that this time, at least, it wouldn’t take much more.  Only a few more blows, and I could feel her sobs erupting from deep inside, could hear the promise of relief in the rise of her cries.  She arched her back, grinding her hip against my erection and I tightened my grip in her hair.  Another blow, and another, and she went limp, her head hanging down, tears flooding from her eyes to patter down onto the carpet. I eased her into my arms and carried her around to lay her in bed, gathering her into the curve of my body as she wept.  I stroked her hair, her back, her shoulders and arms.  I held the water bottle so she could sip, whispered soothing sweet praise in her ear.  I kissed every inch of her face, let her lashes tickle my lips, tasted the salt of her anxiety as it washed down her cheeks. 

Once the violence of the initial storm had passed, I moved quickly, adjusting the nagging bulge behind my fly.   She was still floating on the calming tide when I spread her out on the mattress, buckling her wrists and ankles into place.  Satisfied, I waited for her gaze to clear, to find mine.

When it did, I smiled down at her, rolling my shoulders to ease my shirt off.  I won’t deny the surge of masculine pride I felt when her eyes roamed over my form, filling with a quiet, hungry smolder.  Her quick little tongue darted out to wet her lips as I unbuckled my belt, her wrists twisting ever so slightly in their well-padded bonds.  I finished undressing before stretching out on the bed next to her.  I nuzzled her cheek, tracing a fingertip along her jaw.  “Feeling better, love?”

She nodded slowly, her eyes wide, full of desire.  “I am,” she whispered.  “I love you, Tom.”

“Oh, my darling,” drawing her mouth to mine. “I love you.”  I kissed her softly.  “I love you.”  I let the tip of my tongue dance lightly just inside her parted lips.  “So much…”  Her neck craned up off the pillow as I deepened the kiss, the sugared-wine taste of her flooding my palate and making my cock throb painfully against the supple curve of her hip.  She shivered, whimpering, and I smiled, knowing my precum was leaking onto her skin in streaks of wet heat that then prickled beneath the cool evening air.  Her body lifted in offering, much as it could with her limbs held fast and I closed my eyes, feeling the power I held over her, power she surrendered so willingly, surge through me – heavy, heady, intoxicating. 

My love.  My wife.  My Michelle.  Mine.

She moaned in hungry dismay when I withdrew from her, I tutted quietly into her ear.  “Patience, darling, patience…”  I closed my teeth on the delicate cartilage shell, tugging carefully, letting her feel the heat of my breath, letting her hear the calm flow of my breathing that belied my own burning, aching need.  “Close your eyes,” I instructed quietly.  “Feel my touch…”  I could hear the click in her throat when she swallowed, feel the exquisite tension thrumming beneath her soft skin as she obeyed. 

I started at the arch of her brow, just my fingertips, tracing every line and angle.  Down her flushed cheek, over her trembling lips; I kissed the corner of her mouth as I dipped between them to feel the velvety caress of her tongue, the gentle pull of her sweet suckling.  Along her jaw, and I traced my mark, the one that never completely faded, my beloved spot beneath her ear. Down past her stubborn little chin, watching goosebumps pebble the path in front of my finger, feeling the flutter of her pulse like hummingbird wings as I explored the fragile landscape of her throat.  My lips fit perfectly into the hollow, and she pushed her head back into the pillow to offer me more. 

One lingering kiss, and I lifted my head, my fingers resuming their trek down into the valley of her cleavage.  Her nipples were hard points, flushed, straining from her full, firm breasts; I teased the pebbled flesh with feather-soft flickers until they hitched and bobbed with the desperation of her every ragged breath.  “Tom…”  Plaintive, precious.  “Please…”

“Shush, love,” spoken close enough for my breath to warm her skin.  “Let me play.” 

She exhaled in a shuddering sigh, pressing her lips together.  Satisfied, I refocused on the luscious curves before me, drawing slow, lazy circles from swell to peak, back and forth.  Finally, smiling silently, I caught one swollen nipple between my thumb and forefinger, twisting carefully as I laved its twin with my tongue.  Her cry was musical, a mingling of plea and gratitude and I drew her between my lips, the pull of my mouth matching the tug of my hand.  I spent a moment before switching, then back again, before taking her breasts in my hands, pushing them close so it was easier to lap and suckle at both.   

I could hear the scrape of leather against linen, could feel her limbs drumming ever so slightly against the mattress.  “Oh, my love,” I chuckled warmly.  “How desperately do you want to close your legs right now?”  Her head thrashed a bit against her pillow, my name pushed from her throat on the wave of a tiny sob.  “You’re so wet,” I paused to nip at the hard little bud to my left.  “So ready,” an identical nip to the right.  “That feeling of emptiness… that… lack of pressure… it must…”  Nibble and tug.  “Be so…” A flicker of my tongue.  “Agonizing…”

“Yes,” her voice little more than a whisper, but the helpless, pleading undertone had ebbed, overwhelmed by a husky, wanton edge.  “Oh, God, Tom… touch me… fill me… fuck me.  Please?”

My cock didn’t just twitch at that sound, it jerked, an electric spasm from base to crown that left me gritting my teeth to keep me from snarling outright.  Moving back alongside her so that I could gaze at her expression, I flattened my palm against her belly.  Slowly, I slid my touch lower and lower, watching her dark brown eyes swirl darker and darker until they were nearly black in the rosy light.  Well manicured but not entirely bare, I danced my fingertips through the silky softness of her small tuft of curls, delighting in her shivering gasp.  I parted my fingers, slipping my touch down without grazing her clit, pressing gently inward against her plump, parting lips. 

She moaned at the contact, lifting her hips the little she could, her little hands fluttering like birds at the empty air.  “So wet,” I whispered against her cheek.  “So warm… my sweet little cunt.”  I dipped into the nectar that flowed so readily from insider her, beckoning, welcoming, and used it to slicken up her flesh as I began to stroke. 

The light in her heavy-lidded eyes was transcendent to watch, sparking when my contact was firm, dimming when it was fleeting.  These are the moments when I truly know how all the great Master’s felt: Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikov’sky.  To know an instrument so intimately, to pluck each string with the perfect tension, to tap each key in perfect time.  To connect the parts of wood and string and make them more than what they are.  Michelle is my instrument, my violin, my piano, my guitar.  She let me in, she let me learn.  And oh, the sweet music we make together.

The hitch in her breathing told me I was fast approaching her limit, letting her drift in waters too far.  To bring her back to me, I slid one finger deep, slowly, grazing her g-spot with careful deliberation.  Her eyes flew wide, as did her mouth, and I swallowed her cry before it could cool on the air.  Pumping, curling, withdrawing, feeling her arousal flood over my skin, her sweet, tender folds convulsing to keep me inside.  I rubbed rhythmically at her walls, clicking my tongue in disapproval when her eyes slid shut.  “Darling,” gentle, but a warning.  “You know better.”

“I’m s-s-sorry, Tom,” she whimpered, snapping them open again.  “Just… f-feels so good…”

“I know,” I kissed her tenderly.  “But?”

She swallowed hard, flickering her tongue over her dry lips.  “But this one isn’t for me.”

I withdrew before adding a second finger, pressing in again, slow and steady.  “Such a good girl.”  She whimpered as I twisted carefully, making sure every inch of every muscle got a nice, firm stroke. But her eyes never closed for longer than a blink; her gaze never wavered from mine.  We lost ourselves in the act for I don’t know how many long moments, until her lip was swollen and red from the gnawing of her teeth, until my cock was throbbing, angry, burning for her depths.  She recognized the softening of my expression; the rapture in hers made me chuckle affectionately.  “Yes, my sweet,” I kissed the tip of her nose.  “You may come for me.”

Her entire body went exquisitely taut, her throat on lockdown against the cries that billowed within her lungs.  Her body gripped me, vise-like; it took no small amount of strength to curl my fingers in the manner that gives her the most intense pleasure.  I moved my mouth to her ear, my voice a low, velvety growl.  “That’s it, little one… sweet Michelle… my good girl… come for me.”  Her eyes remained open, though glazed and dilated, full of excitement, full of peace.

I unbuckled her ankles with practiced speed as I positioned my body between her thighs, wanting to feel her legs wrapped tight around me.  She knew; she obeyed before I could even speak.  My hands on her hips guided, her back arched in welcome, and I slid home.

She is my home.  More than England, more than the stage or the studio or the set, more than anything else I’ve ever known or seen or felt.  She is the shape of me.  The empty space that fills me as she receives me, makes me whole as she takes what I offer.  I’m not complete until I’m inside her, and once I’m there, I never want to leave. 

She had tears in her eyes as the crest of my pelvis pressed gently against hers; a gentle nudge of my crown against her core sent them slipping down her cheeks for me to dry with my lips.  “Tell me, Michelle…”

“I’m yours, Tom… I’m yours…”

All after was a haze of scent and color and sound.  Orchid and amber from her skin, citrus and cedarwood from mine.  Her divine little gasps and mewls and, eventually, my ever louder grunts and groans.  The slick, wet slap of our bodies colliding.  And then the taste of her, salt and sweet against my tongue, the yield of her skin beneath my teeth.  Her breasts and belly a welcoming cushion as her sweet, tight cunt beckoned me deeper, and deeper, and harder, gripping, stroking, milking.  And she was begging, begging me… oh, dear God, my name on those soft, supple lips, shaped by that husky, angelic voice… my name, over and over again…  “Tom… Tom… Tom…”

“Oh, fuck, Michelle,” I was scrabbling at the cuffs around her wrists.  And then… her palms against my face… her fingers in my hair.  “Oh, come with me, love.  Come with now.  Oh, Michelle… _fucking Christ_ … **_now_** …”

It was like launching a thousand miles into the air in a heartbeat, rocketing freedom, flying out into space that wasn’t cold but warm, wasn’t dark, but as bright as the light of a thousand suns.  And the only thing that existed, the only reason I could breathe, the only thing that kept my heart from bursting from the cage of my chest, was her.  The light of the golden flecks in her deep mocha eyes, the silk of the waves of her hair, the smell of her skin and her sex and the beat of her heart.  She vaulted me heavenward, danced with me among the stars, then held me inside her as I drifted back to Earth.

We lay together in a sweat-dampened heap, mouths teasing together in barely there kisses, her hands stroking my back as one of mine tugged sweetly at her scalp, the other gently cupping her breast.  I don’t know how she can bear to have me crushing down upon her, but she grabbed at me desperately when I tried to shift away.  So I lay atop her, her legs tangled with mine, her stubborn little chin nudging at me until I relented and gave her all of my mouth.  The water went quickly, the ibuprofen with it, and she beamed like a child as she slipped my ring back into place on my left hand.

“I love you, Tom.”

“I love you, little one.”

Her lovely little lip pouted in self-reflection.  “I’m sorry I’m such a brat.”

“Sweet love,” I kissed her forehead.  “I knew you were a brat when I claimed you.”

Her grin was cheeky perfection.  “It’s part of what you love about me, right?”

I shot her a stern but not unaffectionate sidelong glance.  “Not always.”  She accepted my answer with grace, and I reached for my phone on the bedside table.  Used to the ritual, she smiled sleepily, and moved to pull the linens up over us before cuddling into my chest.  The hypnotic whoosh of our baby’s heart filled the air, this recording from our twenty-four week check louder and stronger than when it first announced itself to our world.  That soft, sweet sound, proof that my love and I were entwined, one, forever.  Proof we’d desperately wanted, but never really needed.

She was yawning when I lifted my head to look into her eyes.  “You know, they say children addressed by name while still in the womb have higher than average birth weight and cranial circumference, and much higher success rates when at school.”

“Tom?”

“Love?”

“We are not finding out the sex of this baby.”

It was my turn to pout.  “No?”

“No.”

I quirked my right eyebrow hopefully, but she shut me down fast.  “Hard limit, Tom.”

“Hard limit?  Really?”

“Really.”

“See,” I scowled at her playfully.  “This would be one of those times that the brat in you is less than loveable.”

“So,” she cocked a brow of her own.  “I guess you’ll just have to spank me again.”

Cheeky minx, my Michelle.

My love.  My wife. Mine. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is curious, the concept explored here is real, as is the book. Available on Amazon if you are interested.

“Do yours hurt as much as mine?”

Emma was lounging in the recliner in front of the fire, watching me curiously as I disassembled and wiped down the pieces of the breast pump I had just been using.  “I’m… not sure,” I couldn’t help but giggle a little.  “I can’t feel your boobs, Em.”

“Ugh,” she shifted in her seat, squeezing her admittedly impressive bosom in her hands.  “I certainly can.  Don’t get me wrong… it’s nice that they’ve grown a bit.”

“A bit?” I snorted playfully, ducking the throw pillow she tossed at my head.

“Shut it.” She sniffed and I laughed, pantomiming zipping my lips together as I wrapped up the plastic tubing and tucked it into the bag with the rest of the equipment.

The box had been waiting for me on the kitchen table about two months earlier.  I was tired and cranky, having quibbled all day with an editor from Doubleday demanding rewrites and changing deadlines.  Our inability to come to an agreement had forced me to miss a late morning doctor’s visit with Emma and an early afternoon lunch with Tom, and I never liked it when he arrived home before I did.  So I slammed the car door hard enough to stir up the early September leaves that had fluttered to the driveway, turning the collar of my coat up against the evening chill.

“Tom?”  I called out as soon as I stepped through the front door, still adjusting to the resonance of our new, bigger home.  The fire was burning in the stone hearth, and the heels of my boots clicked across the polished wood floor as I crossed to hang my coat in the closet and drop my keys and purse on the console table along the entry wall.  “Sweetie?”

“Just out of the shower, love,” his voice drifted down the stairs.  “Be down to you in a tick.”

I flipped absently through the stack of envelopes that had come in the mail.  “Are you hungry?”

I heard him chuckle warmly.  “The Szechwan should be here in half an hour or so.”

“Oh, my God, I love you,” I mumbled as my eyes scanned our latest credit card bill.

“Didn’t catch that, sweet…”

“I SAID I LOVE YOU!” I hollered, my voice pouty and impatient.

There was a soft rumble as he descended the stairs.  “Oooh, grumpy girl…”  His arms snaked around my waist, spinning me to face him and drawing my full length to his.  “Why don’t you say it like you mean it?”

I grumbled quietly as I pressed myself into his chest.  “I love you,” I pouted, rubbing my cheek against the taut muscle above his heart, breathing in the scent of his clean skin and the freshly laundered cotton of his t-shirt.  I hooked my fingers through the belt loops at the back of his jeans as he lifted my chin with his thumb. 

“A bit better,” he smiled, brushing his lips softly over mine, his other hand rubbing soothingly up and down my back.  “But maybe one more try?”  His tone was the perfect blend of kind sympathy and gentle warning, and I shivered in his embrace.

“I love you, Tom,” I said sincerely, melting inside at the pride and satisfaction that lit his face.

“I love you, my little one,” he nuzzled my nose before kissing me once more, giving me more of his mouth and taking my breath away.  I slipped my fingertips into the soft ginger of his beard, scratching lightly at his chin, tugging playfully at the silky strands.  “Bad day?” He asked quietly when we parted.

I nodded.  “Not even worth talking about.”

“Are you certain?”  I nodded again.  “Well, something to make you smile, then…”  He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me into the kitchen, gesturing to the table with a flourish. 

The box was square, wrapped in silver paper with an oversized bow of pink and blue.  I gasped a little, squeezing him around his waist.  “Tom!  What is it?”

“I have no idea,” he grinned down at me, quirking his head a bit.  “It’s from Em.”

“What?”  I crossed to the table to pluck the card from under the satin.  It was plain white cardstock, and inside, only seven words:

_Darling Sissy –_

_You can do this._

_Emma_

Tom hugged me from behind as he read over my shoulder.  “Do what?”

I shrugged, pulling on the tail of the ribbon to uncinch the bow.  “ _I_ have no idea.” 

I lifted the lid and set it aside, frowning just a bit at the contents of the box: a black nylon shoulder bag with a sturdy strap and half dozen pockets around its perimeter.  It wasn’t exactly light when I lifted it, and when I saw what was underneath, I very nearly dropped it.  Tom caught it easily, moving to place it on the table as he unzipped the top, and I could hear the clatter of plastic as he began to unload it.  He laughed a little.  “What is this?”  He pulled the body of the device from the bag, turning it from side to side.

“It’s a breast pump,” I replied, barely above a whisper.

“A what…?”  His gaze followed mine, and I could hear his sharp intake of air.  “Oh… oh, Michelle… love…”

I reached into the box with a hand trembling so badly my fingers didn’t work at first.  But I managed to get a grip on the book and pull it into the light.

**_Breastfeeding Without Birthing – Alyssa Schnell, MS, IBCLC_ **

We devoured it that evening, every word, the Chinese food that arrived a few minutes after I’d opened the package barely an afterthought.  Three pages in and I had to stop Tom from dialing Dr. Deseje at home, insisting that this revelation was not an emergency and could, in fact, wait until the morning.  After agreeing, reluctantly, he pulled out his laptop and fired it up to satisfy his need to research.  He busied himself reading about every supplement recommended, studying every detail he could find, even going so far as to email the author at the address provided on her website.  And when I closed the cover of the book after finishing the last page, and he could see my nerves rattling me to the core, he didn’t even bother taking me upstairs.

“Come here, my love,” he murmured, taking the fleece from the back of the recliner and spreading it on the carpet in front of the hearth.  He lay me on my back, stretching his long, lean body out beside me.  He spent a few long moments gazing down at me, playing his fingers through my hair, tracing the lines of my face and neck with the tips of his fingers.  My skin was humming when he finally put his mouth to mine; soft, sweet kisses that made me feel I was floating up off the floor.  “Mmm, Michelle,” he purred, his touch dancing down to the dip of my cleavage.  “She’s right, you know,” he nibbled at my bottom lip, his gaze never leaving mine.  “You can do this.”

“You think so?” I asked, feeling small, shy, but utterly safe.

He nodded.  “Oh, darling, I do.”  His fingers splayed over my left breast, caressing firmly, making my nipple draw up and push against the heat of his palm.  “I really do.  And at last…”  He quirked an eyebrow.  “A way for me to help…”

With that, he moved his nimble fingers to the buttons of my blouse, freeing them easily as his tongue teased between my lips.  “What was it the book said?”  His voice, husky, controlled, that edge of mischief that made him so irresistible. “Medications can be quite helpful…”  Cool air hit my skin as the fabric fell away, making me tremble like a leaf.  “Those herbal supplements are highly recommended.”  He found the clasp at the center of my chest and twisted it carefully open.   “But more important than all of that…”  He nudged one cup aside.  “The key…”   He pushed away the other, leaving me bare and breathless before him.  “Stimulation…”

“Oh, Tom…”  My fingers slid into his hair as he lowered his head, closed his lips around my left nipple, and began to suck.

And so began a new little ritual, a practice for which Tom and I would steal little islands of time whenever we could.  My pullovers and back-clasp bras lingered unused in my wardrobe, and a small tube of lanolin took up permanent residence in my purse.  I’m certain, to our friends and colleagues, we appeared simply an older version of a pair of horny teenagers, excusing ourselves at any opportune moment only to return eyes bright and faces flushed as we readjusted clothing and tamed mussed hair.  I know his costumer and make-up girl spent more than a few awkward afternoons waiting outside his trailer as the God of Mischief had his way with me, my body straddling his lap, my hands pinned at the small of my back to arch my breasts up in offering.

And when Tom wasn’t available, I would assemble the pump that Emma had given me and tuck myself into it.  And as it hummed rhythmically against my flesh, I forced myself to remember that the fact that I had yet to produce a single drop was not necessarily a herald of failure.  I mean, they looked bigger.  My   bras felt fuller, tighter.  But I could never tell what was clinical fact and what was wishful thinking.  And so I pumped, Tom and I played, and we all hoped.

Now, I couldn’t help but laugh gently at the almost wistful look on Emma’s face as she gazed at the contraption she’d purchased.  “What’s on your mind, Em?”  I crossed to kneel in front of her, laying my cheek against her swollen belly.  We both giggled wondrously as the tiny sprout inside kicked vigorously against the warmth I created, and I pressed several kisses to the spot.  “You settle down,” I sing-songed quietly.  “I’m talking to Auntie Emmy.”  Stroking her taxed abdominal muscles, I gazed up at her in adoring curiosity.  “Come on, out with it.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, her normally sunny smile more a weary grimace.  “They hurt!”  She shifted against the recliner, again cupping her breasts almost defensively.  “And I know I’m not supposed to… you know… slosh them about, since you’ll be doing all the nursing and I’ll need to dry up.”  I exhaled a small sigh, as ever in awe of her ability to believe without reservation that my efforts would pay off.  “But… I mean… seriously!  Feel these boulders!”

I threw my head back and laughed, rubbing her belly where the baby drummed restlessly at the sound.  “Em, I may have knocked you up, but I am not going to feel you up!”

“Oh, God, Sissy,” she pouted, crossing her arms snug over her chest.  “One thing I do miss about Seb… he’d have been more than happy to cop a handful or two.”

My brow twisted sadly, and I kissed her tummy once more.  “Has he called at all?”

She shook her head, chin up, eyes clear.  “Just that one time.”

“Emma,” I hugged her girth, swallowing hard.  “I am so, so sorry.”

“Michelle,” she tugged at my hair.  “We knew what we were doing.  We knew it might get… heavy… weird.  We tried, it didn’t work.”  She drew absent circles around the flesh that bulged and receded as her little guest squirmed inside her.  “He’s a good man.”  She met my gaze evenly.  “No ill will, no regrets.”

“You’re an amazing woman,” I breathed softly.  “You know… don’t you… if there is anything I can do… ever.  Anything at all…”

“Aw, Sissy,” She struggled up in her chair to lean forward and rest her forehead against mine.  “Milk me.”

We both collapsed into gales of shrieking laughter, until she hissed and winced a little, pushing back at the limb currently wedged against her ribcage.  “You’re a feisty little bugger today!”  She playfully scolded her belly.  “You’d best behave or Auntie Emmy’s going to boot you out!  No way I’ll take twelve more days of this kind of abuse.” 

“Aww, Sprout,” I nuzzled the swell under my nose, stroked my hands all along her stretched skin.  “Be sweet to your auntie.”  A thump beneath my chin, and I smiled.  Looking up at Emma, I dropped a small wink.  “Tea?”

She rolled her eyes, wriggling her arms over her chest.  “You’re really not going to help me with these, are you?”

I laughed again as I rose to my feet.  “It’s clean,” I gestured to the pump on the end table.

“Really?”  It was comical the way her face lit up in curious relief.

“Knock yourself out,” I offered her may hands to help her lift herself from the chair.  “Just don’t blame me if you start to leak…”

As if by divine providence, the moment the words left my lips, the moment Emma found her feet beneath her, there was a soft pattering sound, like rain on a window.  “Ooooh, that… feels a bit odd…”  She twisted her back a bit, and we both looked down to see a small, dark stain sinking into the plush russet carpet.  “Oh…” Her head snapped up, eyes wide, jaw agape.  “Oh, shit… oh, shit… I’ve ruined the bloody carpet…”

“Oh, shit, Em,” Panic and excitement and joy and terror surged in my chest at once.  “Oh, shit…”

“Michelle,” for a moment her face was bare, naked, frightened.  “Is that… did I just…”

“Oh, shit, Em!”  Tears began to streak my cheeks as I laughed breathlessly.  “We have to call Tom!  Oh, shit… We have to call Tom!”  She nodded robotically, her hands frozen in the air where I’d released them, her eyes saucers in the middle of her face.  “Come on, sweetie,” I guided her to the corner of the sofa before nudging her down.  I raced to the entry closet, grabbing her coat and scarf and boots.  Her hospital bag sat waiting on the floor; I dragged it out and pushed it towards the front door.  “Here, Em,” I delivered her cold weather wear to her, smoothing my hand over her forehead.  “Put these on.  I’ll call Tom, and then we’ll go, okay?”

“Oh-oh-okay,” again that tremulous, shaky head nod.  “Okay.”

I couldn’t stop myself; I pressed a kiss to her cheek.  “Put your coat on, sweetie.”

“Okay,” she began to mumble absently.  “We’ll go.  I’ll put my coat on… my boots… we’ll go.  And it’ll be fine.  It’ll be fine.  You’ll get Tom, and we’ll go.”

_Oh, Emma… please don’t crack on me now._

I pulled my coat from the closet, pushing my arms into it as I grabbed my mobile from the charging dock.  One ring... two…

“God, darling, I’m dying to hear your voice.”

“Tom…”

“But it’s really a shit time…”

I raked my fingers through my hair as I fumbled through my purse for my keys.  “Tom?”

“We’re wrapped for shooting but there’s this whole… Marvel VIP… thing… and that awful Bryce wanker is here going on about post-production budget…”

I sighed, blowing my bangs off my forehead in exasperation.  “ ** _TOM_**!”

“Jesus, love, no need to shout…”

Throwing my hand up in the air, I blurted it out.  “Emma’s water broke.”

“Tom?  Tom?”  I pulled the phone away from my ear to check that the line was still active.  “Tom?  Are you there?  Did you hear what I just said?”

“Did…” I could see him in my mind, Loki black hair and pale skin, wide blown blue eyes, his free hand rising to his forehead.  “ _Did_ I hear what you just said?”

My shoulders began to shake as I wept and laughed all at once.  “Tell that Bryce wanker to sod off,” I directed.  “And meet us at the hospital… Daddy.”


	13. Chapter 13

The contractions started just as I was hanging up the phone.  I turned to find Emma straight-backed on the edge of the sofa, dressed for our departure.  Holding her belly with a stoic expression of concentration, it almost appeared she was listening to some distant message she couldn’t quite hear.  “Em?” I asked, laying a nervous hand on her shoulder.

Her wide blue eyes were full of anxious anticipation.  “Michelle,” she grabbed my hands and pressed them to her stomach.  “Hard as a rock… yes?”  I nodded, opening my mouth to speak, only to snap it shut when her face twisted into a moue of surprised agony.  “Bloody hell… oh, bloody fucking CHRIST… That hurts!”

I dropped to my knees in front of her, catching her wrist and pressing several small buttons on her digital watch.  She grabbed onto my fingers, squeezing desperately, her cheeks blooming with the effort.  “Emma?” I squeezed back.  “Emma… breathe… just breathe…”  Her air released in a whoosh, and she immediately began to pant.  “No… no… honey, slow down.”  I wrested one hand from her grasp to caress the side of her face.  “Slow… slow.  Nice and deep.  In… out.”  The panic in her gaze subsided a little as she latched on to my voice, blindly following my directions.  I could see the tears just rising behind her lids; they slid down her cheeks a moment later when the pain released and she closed her eyes in relief.  “Good girl,” I hugged her, rubbing her back.  “Good girl…”

Her hands grabbed at my elbows as I pulled back.  “Sissy…”  Her voice tiny, timid.  “I’m scared.”

“Oh, Em…”  My own tears began to pour forth as I pulled her close again.  I rocked her for a long moment before sitting back on my heels.  “You?  Scared?  Oh, Em… you’re so brave.  So brave.”  I made a sweeping gesture from her head to her toes.  “Look at you.  You are the bravest person I’ve ever known.”

She smiled the slightest bit.  “I am?”

“Oh, my God, Emmy!”  I smoothed her hair back from her forehead.  “Of course you are!  I mean… look at you… I could never…”  What I’d said dawned on us both, and we began to laugh.  “Well, of course _I_ could never… you wouldn’t be like this if I could ever…”  I smoothed away her tears before swiping at my own.  “But… you know what I mean.”  I lay my forehead against hers.  “You can do this.  We can do this.”

“My God, Michelle,” she gave a full-body shiver.  “We’re going to have a baby.”

“Yes, we are,” I laughed.  “Very soon, too.”  I rose to my feet.  “Come on, let’s get you in the car.”

We timed those first contractions at seventeen minutes.  I forced myself not to speed down the fog-slickened streets, watching the sun begin to dip below the horizon.  By the time we’d crossed back into London and I’d eased the car into St. Thomas’ parking lot, we were timing them at fifteen minutes.  Each one gripped tighter, lasted longer, and after I’d helped her change into her hospital gown, she crawled into the bed and rolled onto her side to endure the sweeping cycle again.  Dusting a kiss to her temple, I hurried from the room to the nurse’s station.  “Excuse me, I’m sure you get hysterical requests like this all the time, but my sister-in-law was just admitted, in labor, and it would be really, really great if we could get her epidural going… like… five minutes ago.”

The nurse seated behind the desk looked familiar, and I was certain we’d met during one appointment or tour or another, but I could not for the life of me remember her name.  “Please relax, Mrs. Hiddleston,” she smiled gently.  “Dr. Deseje has been paged and is on her way.”

“But… but… but it’s Dr. Burke who does the epidural…”

“And he’s been paged as well.  But he won’t start any manner of anesthesia on a laboring mother without the OB’s exam first.”

“But… but…”  I was panicking, irrational, and I knew it.  But I couldn’t stop.  “But she’s in pain.”

“I know, Mrs. Hiddleston, I know.  And we’re already getting her the PRN relief Dr. Deseje left standing orders for…”

“But those are pills!”  I wrung my hands miserably.  “Those are pills!  They won’t kick in for… for…”  I gripped the counter, feeling weak in the knees.  “Please?  Please?  She’s in pain.  And it’s because of me… she’s doing this for me… she’s going through this for me… please… can’t you do something better than that?”

“Mrs. Hiddleston…” 

She lay her cool, caramel skinned hands over mine, and I very nearly grabbed them to yank her across the counter.

"Michelle!"

That voice. His voice.

I turned to see him rushing down the hall towards me, the love and excitement and joy in his expression twisting into confused worry as I staggered into his arms.  "Michelle!  My love," He stroked my hair as I trembled in his arms.  "Darling... what's the matter?"

"She's hurting, Tom," I sobbed softly.  "She's hurting... and I can't stop it and I can't take it away and it should be me!  She shouldn't have to go through this... that's my pain... it should be me!"

"Oh, my sweet," he covered my mouth with a gentle hand.  "Hush now.  Just for a moment.  Hush.  And take me to her."

The contractions had subsided by the time he filled the doorway, and the relief I saw flood over Emma's face touched my heart in a way I never expected.  "Tommy!"

"Em," he rushed into the room, wrapping her in his large arms and kissing her cheek.  "Lovey... you're all right, yes?"  His eyes scanned her face as she nodded.

"It hurts," she groaned miserably.  "It's a right fucking drag," their foreheads pressed together sweetly.  "But I'm okay right now."

He kissed her other cheek, then went to his knees beside the bed.  "And you, Sprout?"  His large hands spanned her swollen belly, his lips dusting small kisses over the swell.  "Ready to come out and play, eh?"  I could tell from the way his face lit up that the baby inside was kicking and pushing against his touch.  "Yeah... it's right bloody cramped in there, isn't it?  That's all right, little wiggler.  It's all right.  We'll get you out.  Auntie Emma can't wait to get you out, can she?"

Emma giggled, rubbing her own hands over her curves.  "I do look forward to having you off my bladder," she cooed softly.

"See?  And Daddy can't wait for you to come out, so he can hold you and rock you and tell you all sorts of stories.  And your mummy?"  Tom turned to look at me where I still hovered in the doorway.  "Oh, Sprout, your mummy."  He beckoned me to him with an open hand.  "I can't wait for you to see her, little bit.  Your mummy is so beautiful.  And she's been waiting for you for such a long time."  He guided my palm to a spot that curved beneath Emma's skin, almost certainly a tiny foot, covering it with his own.  "She's gone through so much for you, Sprout.  She loves you so very much."

"I do, sweet baby."  I lay my cheek against our hands, my tears dotting Emma's gown.  "I love you so, so much."  A heartbeat of silence, and then we all laughed as one as the little foot gave a hearty kick. 

"Awwww...."

The voice from the hall made us all turn.  Jen Deseje leaned in the doorway, a small satisfied smile curling her lips.  "Beautiful family.  I hate to kill the moment."  Her smile faded into stern determination.  "But I'm going to."  She strode forward purposefully, opening a drawer beside the bed.  "Mom, Dad, we discussed this remember?  Emma and I need a bit of privacy right now, we've got some work to do.  After that, you're back for the long haul.  Any questions before we separate?

Tom sprang to his feet, an excited light in his eyes.  "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"NO!"  Three feminine voices united to shout him down, and he scowled adorably.

"Jesus, Tom," Emma shook her head.  "Hard limit, you git."

"Yeah, Tom," Dr. Deseje narrowed her eyes at him.  "Hard limit."

Tom blanched at me as he followed me out the door, pouting in astonishment as I laughed.  "You told them hard limit?"

The evening progressed slowly, but much easier after Jen finished her exam and assessment.  Tom and I stood, holding each other in the hallway, as a nurse and the anesthesiologist slipped inside the door.  When we they urged us back into the private room, Emma was curled on her side, IV fluids dripping slowly into her arm. Tom and I knelt in front of her, each of us holding one of her hands in both of our own as Dr. Burke slipped the needle for the epidural into her back, sighing with her when the numbing relief took hold.  We called Diana and Sarah and James, promising to keep them posted when the action really picked up.  Tom spent close to an hour on the phone with Michael, with Luke, with the people from Marvel.  They weren't exactly thrilled with the news, what with Tom's hiatus not scheduled to start for another week.  He was professional but firm, and my heart swelled with pride: "Kevin? My wife and child need me.  Thor himself could stand before me with all the power of the storm in his grasp, and I would look him in the eye and tell him to fuck off."

The clock approached midnight as we kept a quiet vigil at Emma's side, watching the evening news, playing games on my iPad, helping her shift and turn as her labor slowly but steadily progressed.  Once it seemed she'd slipped into a somewhat comfortable sleep, we cuddled ourselves into the other bed that had been moved into the birthing suite to accommodate our unique circumstances.  I was so conditioned to the sound of the baby's heartbeat as our nightly lullaby, the hypnotic whoosh of the monitor strapped to Emma's belly soon had me dozing in Tom’s arms.

"Michelle?"  A gentle nudge to my shoulder, but I sat up with a start.  "Steady, girl," Dr. Deseje soothed me as Tom rose as well, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. 

"Jen?"  I had to pause to clear my throat.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she assured me.  "Not a thing.  Baby is doing great, and Emma is asleep."  She gave a small snort.  "God bless narcotics."

"What time is it?"  Tom yawned, moving my hair aside so that he could kiss the bare skin where my neck met my shoulder.

"Almost six."  She tapped my knee and I moved my legs aside so she could sit on the edge of the bed.  "It's been a good night.  Emma's dilation progressed very quickly to seven, baby's head is down, and other than some dry mouth and itching, she's been resting even better than I'd hoped."

I leveled my eyes on hers.  "But?"

She gave a small tilt of her head.  "But we've been stuck at 8 for about three hours now.  Not unusual for first time births, especially when anesthesia is involved."

"So," Tom tucked his chin over my shoulder.  "What now?"

Dr. Deseje sighed.  "I want to turn the epidural down," she spoke quietly but firmly.  "Way down."

I winced.  "Do you have to?"

She nodded.  "We do.  Her membranes have been ruptured for more than 14 hours now, and frankly, if either Emma or baby is going to have any issues tolerating active labor, I want to know it now.  I don't want to be scrambling at the last minute."

Tom could feel the tension coursing through me; I closed my eyes and leaned into the comforting warmth of the soft kisses he pressed against my temple, my ear.  "Okay," I said at last.  "What do we do?"

"Well," Jen pushed herself up off the bed.  "I'll give you a few moments to wake up, stretch, grab a coffee or a quick wash.  Then we'll wake her up and tell her.  Sound good?"  Tom and I both nodded silently, and she smiled. "Okay.  I'll be back." 

I watched her cross the room, and after the door clicked shut behind her, I lay back against the mattress.  Tom leaned over me, sliding his tongue between my lips as his well-schooled fingers absently plucked at my left nipple.  I arched into his touch with a barely audible moan, slipping my fingers into his dark, silky hair.  He let me drift a long, sweet moment before nipping lightly at my bottom lip to bring me back. 

"Good morning, little one."

"Good morning," I stroked my fingertips through his beard.  "I love you."

"Oh, sweet,” he nuzzled his nose against my cheek.  "I love you."

I will always remember that quiet moment we stole, our last deep breath before the plunge.  Before Emma’s pain returned, making the minutes stretch into hours and the hours stretch into eternity.  Tom kept the compresses cool and wet, kept her ice cup full, propped her on pillows when she begged, only to whisk them away moments later when she’d writhe against them in protest.  He rubbed her shoulders when she complained of stiffness, paced the floor when she snapped at him to leave her be, updated Diana and Sarah by phone, all the while raking his hands through his hair and watching the scribbling of the heart monitor as if it promised every untold secret of the universe.

And me?

I never left her side.  Her little hands gripped mine with the strength of a thousand men, her wide, weary eyes holding me just as fast.  To this day I bear the half-moon scar where her thumbnail dug into the back of my hand.  Another mark I wear with reverent pride.  And in the middle of it all, the nurse would come, the nurse would go.  Rachel, her name.  Blonde and brisk, clever enough to get in, do her job quickly, and get out.

It was just before noon when she snapped off her gloves and strode to the sink, scrubbing her hands as Emma looked up at me with eyes red-rimmed and watery.  “Sissy,” she slurred a bit.  “I really don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“I know, Emmy, I know.”  I kissed her forehead over and over.  “Just breathe, sweet girl, just breathe.  You are doing so well Emma, my God, I’m so proud of you.”

“She’s right, Em,” Tom leaned in to kiss her as well, only to bump his nose against her upturned palm.

“You can fuck right the hell off, you right royal prick!”  Tom and I blanched at one another as she struggled up on her elbows.  “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?  Because I broke that stupid mechanical robot you loved so much… Jesus fucking Christ, Tom, I was five!  And because I told Mum you were sneaking out of Sunday tea with Gran to nick comic books with that wanker Jeffery Cosgrove.  And because I walked in on you that time with that horrible Lamontagne girl… Christ, Tom, built like a fucking bowling pin, that one…”

I pressed my free hand to my mouth, unsure of what was making me laugh harder: her out of the blue, uncharacteristic diatribe or Tom’s utterly flummoxed expression in its wake.  He’d just begun to back away when she came to her senses, scrabbling for his hand to pull him back.  “Tom, Tom, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.”  His eyes searched my expression wildly, looking for direction, for reassurance.  I bit back even harder against my giggles, nodding and tilting my head towards her.  Warily, he let her draw him near, lifting his hand to pepper it with kisses.  “I’m so, so, sorry!  I’ve no idea what came over me!  Such awful things to say, Tom, I’m so sorry.  Please forgive me and oh… bloody… HELL…”  From my periphery I could see Tom wince at the increased pressure around his hand as Emma lifted her panicked eyes to mine.  “Oh, Michelle,” she sobbed hoarsely.  “That… urge to push… thing… oh, God…”

I gasped, grabbing at her arm.  “Don’t do it, Em… not yet.”

“Oh, God… I have to!”  I could hear Tom cursing softly under his breath as her grip bore down, and I hopped off the bed, intending to dash across the room to throw open the door and call for Jen.  “Wait, don’t go,” she sobbed, still clamping all ten of her slender fingers around Tom’s hand.  “Don’t go, don’t go…”

“Honey,” I took her face in my hands, smoothing the sweat-soaked hair back from her brow.  “You can’t push without the doctor… I have to get the doctor…”

“Call light…”  Tom’s voice, soft, strained, drifting through clenched teeth. 

“What?”

“Bleeding CHRIST, Michelle… CALL LIGHT… GOD!!!”  He groaned in relief as Emma finally released him to instead tear at the linens by her sides. 

“Sorry!”  I gasped sheepishly, grabbing the remote panel and pressing the large red button in the middle.  “Sorry, Tom… oh sweetie, I’m sorry.”  He nodded absently, rubbing circulation back into his throbbing hand.  A metallic chink filled the air, followed by a crisp friendly voice.

“May I help you?”

“We need Dr. Deseje,” I barked, rubbing my hands up and down Emma’s back as she writhed miserably on her side.  “Emma… she’s laboring… she’s… we think…”

**_“I WANT TO BLOODY PUSH!!!!”_** Half snarl, half sob, all scream.

“We’ll page the doctor for you at once.”

Tom and I exchanged surreal glances over the bed at the calm, clipped response, suppressing absurd chuckles as we attempted to comfort our hard-suffering sister. 

A moment later, the door swung open, and Dr. Deseje and her nurse walked briskly into the room.  Emma’s eyes locked on the physician’s plaintively.  “I want to push,” she whimpered weakly.

“So I hear,” Jen grinned as she lifted the sheet to reach between her legs.  “I’m pretty sure the entire west wing knows you want to push.”  I worried my ragged thumbnail between my teeth as I watched her eyes narrow, listened to her softly murmuring to the little blonde marking the chart at the side of the bed.  She tucked it back into its sleeve on the wall, then pulled a wireless phone from her pocket.  She dialed a few numbers before holding it up to the doctor’s ear.  “Stork to seventeen,” Jen spoke into the speaker, then withdrew to the sink as the nurse opened the closet door.  She rolled a small curtained steel frame to the foot of the bed, then bracketed it at the center near Emma’s waist.  “So,” Jen turned back to us, scrubbing her arms to the elbow.  “What say we have a baby?”

The nurses told us later that Emma pushed for an hour and thirty seven minutes.  I’ve always taken their word for it.  I didn’t, couldn’t, measure that experience in minutes or seconds.  I measured it in the beads of sweat that rolled down my sweet sister’s face as she bore down against the pressure holding that tiny life inside her body.  I measured it in the ten-counts Tom and I metronomed together as we stood by her side and held her hands.  I measured it in the tiny, pleading sobs that fell from her lips in triple stacks when the doctor told her to relax, her head falling back on her neck.  I counted it in the throb of her pulse in the veins of her throat. 

Intense, but not unrelenting.  Flashes of levity – the nurse complimenting Emma’s pedicure, and Emma’s strained thanks with the name of her salon and nail artist.  Her impatient squawk every time curiosity led Tom to attempt a peek over the curtain: “You are NOT looking down there!”  And my personal favorite, her exclamation groaned practically into her navel as she bent double with all her might: “Would you PLEASE get out of my body so we can start the celebration? Auntie needs a drink!”

And then, suddenly, a change in the air.  An almost imperceptible shift in Deseje’s posture, the slightest uptick in the urgency of the nurses shuffling about behind her.  And then seagreen eyes locked with mine, a wry smile curling her lips.  “Here we go, Mom.”

I probably should have focused on Emma.  If not her, then my attention should have been glued to the doctor.  But from that moment, until _the_ moment, there’s only Tom.  His silky, frazzled curls fighting for directional dominance atop his head.  His eyes that danced with a terrified light when they met mine.  The proud angles of his brow and cheeks and jaw, the flush of his skin, his teeth and tongue peeking through his dazzlingly dazed smile.  It was an eternity, it was a heartbeat.  It was us.

And then, the tiniest of cries.  Another, louder.  Indignant.

“Head is out, Emma… shoulders next… come on… big, big push… atta girl… aaand baby is out…”

Tears spilled uncheck down my cheeks as I watched my husband press a hand to his chest.  “What is it?”

Dr. Deseje winked at him.  “Why don’t you come cut this cord and see for yourself?”

Emma clutched at me, laughing through her sobs, and I nodded at Tom’s wide-eyed expression.  Slowly, he shuffled to the end of the bed where the doctor was rubbing briskly at a tiny little back, its owner twisting and wriggling angrily in her hands.  I watched his face, my impossible dream come true, as happiness exploded across it like a supernova.

“Michelle… it’s a boy.  Oh, my God… oh, my girls.  You’ve given me a son.”

On perfect cue, his squall filled the room, enraged by the cold injustice of his first breaths in this world.  Emma and I collapsed against one another, laughing and crying as Tom did his fatherly duty separating our son from the angel that delivered him to us.  Jen held him up, red and wriggling and bellowing his discontent, before the nurses whisked him to the warmer to dry and weigh and measure.  “Go,” Emma pushed me towards them as Tom enfolded her in his arms, covering her face in kisses. 

I crept quietly up behind the nurses, watching them wipe his little body with warm wet cloths, revealing perfectly pink skin.  Flaxen blonde curls sprang almost instantly from his tiny skull as they washed it clean, and when the overhead exam light was switched off, his eyes popped open, the most beautiful shade of cobalt that I knew, beyond any doubt, would fade to the endless cerulean of the man who made him.

I could feel Tom behind me, could hear the click of the Nikon again and again and again.  And then, his hands on my shoulders, guiding me to the rocker in the corner.  My eyes flicked to Emma, who lay slumped, exhausted, against her pillows.  “Congratulations, Mummy,” she mouthed through a wearily peaceful smile.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my lips trembling.  “Thank you.”  Tom knelt by my side, guided my mouth to his, kissed me so sweetly I felt I might melt into the chair.

And then… there he was. 

My son.

Swaddled in soft cotton blankets, a soft knit cap covering his head.  All seven pounds, eight ounces and twenty-one inches of him.  He blinked in solemn confusion as Tom kissed his crown, yawned sleepily as I traced a fingertip down the line of his nose.  “Handsome boy,” I whispered, brushing my lips to his forehead.  “You look just like your Daddy.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Hiddleston?”  Rachel hovered close by, a clipboard in her hand.  “I don’t like to interrupt, but if you have a name ready, we can start the birth certificate now… I know there are… legal considerations here…”

I turned my face up to Tom’s.  “Do you still like…?”

“I love it,” he grinned.  “I picked it.  Do _you_ like it?”

“I love it,” I beamed.  “And it suits him,” I held the baby up just a bit higher.  “Don’t you think?”

“Eheheheheh…”

The young woman offered Tom the paperwork, and he quickly filled it in with his looping scrawl, then returned to hover over us where we rocked.  “Aww,” the young nurse cooed.  “William Jonathon.  Very smart.”  As she turned to leave us in our warm little cocoon, Tom leaned in to kiss my lips once more before burying his nose in the crook of the baby’s neck. 

“Happy birthday, Jack.”


	14. Chapter 14

"We made one beautiful boy, didn't we, love?"

Tom and were standing in our bedroom, looking down at the sleeping bundle we’d just tucked into the bassinet beside the bed.  Shoulder to shoulder, I let my head fall against him with sigh.  "That we did," I smiled with a nod.  "That we did." 

The blizzard of activity immediately following Jack's birth started quickly but was mercifully brief.  Diana and Sarah tiptoed into the room, teary and clinging to one another.  I was tucked into bed next to Emma, my arms around her as she cradled the tiny boy for the first time outside her womb.  I was able to click the shutter on the Nikon just in time to catch the look of pride on Tom's face when he lifted the warm bundle from her arms to place him reverently in his mother's.  There were coos and kisses and congratulations, then laughs over the baby's hearty protestations when we unwrapped him to marvel at tiny fingers and toes.

Next came Chris and Elsa with the well-wishes of the rest of the Marvel crowd, and an inquiry from Robert: "Did you name him after me?"  Then it was Ben and Carrie, who cuddled and nuzzled one another as much as they did the baby.  I tugged on Tom's arm, and when he leaned close, I murmured to him to make sure they gave our boy back before they left.  Finally, the door swung open, and Ki's dark head popped nervously around the jamb.  She’d hopped a flight from a job in Milan as soon as I'd texted her, and her almond eyes were shining with excitement before she put them behind her camera.

"Thanks, you guys... really," she was grinning hugely as she tucked her equipment back into her bag.  "I've never gotten an exclusive like this before.  Anything I can do to show my appreciation..."

"Well, if you don't mind," Tom rose from where he'd been sitting next to Emma.  "It would mean a great deal to us if you started here."  He opened his phone to text her some contact information.  "I've always had an excellent working relationship with the people at Elle, and they've taken great pains to be unobtrusive through this entire process..."

As the two of them headed for the hallway, Emma shifted uncomfortably in the bed, wincing and hissing just a bit through her teeth.  "Here," I stood to help her, propping her pillows before lowering the head of the bed.

She smiled up at me gratefully before pressing a soft kiss to Jack's forehead.  "Okay, Sprout, go to mummy.  Auntie Emma's about done for..."

I took the baby from her, losing myself in the beauty of his face for a moment as she settled into the mattress with a sigh.  "What do you need, sweetie?"

She grinned, her eyes already closed.  "Three days of sleep and a nice, dry Prosecco."

I laughed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.  "You work on the first," I leaned in to kiss her forehead.  "We'll get you the second afterward."

She yawned at that, leaning into me.  "I love you, Sissy."

"Oh, Em," I blinked back tears.  "I love you, too."

Now, just a quick three days later, Emma had been discharged to Diana’s house to the pampering care of mum and older sister, and my little family was finally alone in our quiet country home.  No doctors coming to listen and poke and prod, no nurses coming to check vital signs and, most blessedly, no lactation experts hovering over my bare chest as I struggled to master the so-called natural wonder of nursing my newborn son. 

I tried not to panic that first time he began to twist ever so slightly in Tom's arms, blinking his dark blue eyes open beneath his furrowed brow.  He gave a yawn, then craned his neck, his wide open mouth stretching, seeking.  A nervous buzz began to tingle in the pit of my stomach as I recognized the cue, and I sat up a bit straighter.  Sure enough, when he didn't find what he was rooting for, his little face pinched in a mask of dismay, and his tiny cry filled the room.  Sensing my tension, Tom looked at me with gentle concern.  "Darling?  Are you all right?"

"Moment of truth, I guess," I sighed, and when he still looked confused, I clarified.  "He's hungry."

"Oh, love..."   He held the baby a moment longer as I shifted the pillows to support my back a bit better, then unbuttoned my blouse.  "You're such a lucky little sprout," he murmured softly, rocking him gently as I unclasped my bra.  "Your mummy is a feast fit for a king."

"Yeah, that remains to be seen," I sniffed, holding out my arms.  "Hand the little prince over."

I was shaking a bit as I unwrapped his little body, pressing his bare skin to mine as I moved him into position.  His little head wriggled from side to side as he sought my breast, his plaintive whimpers quickly giving rise to squalls of angry frustration, and for one panicked moment I was certain I wouldn't be able to calm him enough to latch.  Tom’s arm tightened around me, meant to comfort, but the pressure only served to ratchet my anxiety higher.  I was about to gently shrug him off when, at last, Jack’s little nose bounced off my nipple, he groped with his lips, and I winced a bit at the tight pinching discomfort.  A few tugs seemed to relax him, thought, and after a few seconds, I hooked my finger gently into his mouth.  He released me and allowed me to guide him back properly, and the sensation that flooded over me when his rhythmic sucking produced pulling without pain was unlike anything I'd ever felt before.  One tiny hand came to rest against my heart while slow-blinking eyes gazed up at me, and I fingered his soft curls in loving wonder.

"Jesus Christ, you're beautiful,” Tom whispered, nuzzling a soft kiss to my cheek.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” I turned to catch his lips with my own.  “But don’t get too carried away just yet…”  He shifted us on the bed, leaning me against his chest and curling his arms around the two of us.  The warmth of his body soaked into mine, and I melted against him as one hand stroked along my forearm, the other over the curve of the baby’s head. 

I’ll never know for sure if that first feeding did anything for the emptiness of his tummy.  What I do know is that, two hours later, the same routine soothed his fussing, as it did two hours after that.  By the end of that first day, the first drops of evidence that my body might not be a complete study in feminine failure began to wet the front of my shirt when he cried; by the end of the next, the pump Emma had given me had just started to coax from me the barest of milliliters of what the nurses dubbed “liquid gold”.

Now, standing over his bedside, I reached to close my bra as Tom tucked the baby’s small, long-fingered hands back into his swaddle.  “Hang on a second, love,” he purred mischievously, rolling the bassinet just a bit further away before catching my arms and pulling me towards our bed with a grin.  “Don’t put those beauties away just yet.”

“Tom,” I giggled self-consciously as he slipped my blouse and bra down my shoulders together, cupping my breasts in his large, warm hands.  “You don’t have to…”

“Don’t have to?” He repeated, slightly affronted as he sank down onto the bed in front of me.  “I may have to share them with my boy now,” he traced his thumbs tenderly over each taut nipple.  “But they’re still mine.”  He watched my expression closely as he caressed me, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.  “You didn’t think it was going to work, did you?”

I laughed as I stroked a finger along his jaw.  “Of course not.”

His smile was peaceful and proud.  “But it did.”

I nodded.  “It did.”  I covered his hands with my own.  “So… you know… you don’t have to.”

He tilted his head, looking at me curiously.  “Does it hurt?” He asked.  “When I touch you like this?”

“No.”  I shook my head, but I continued to restrain his hands with mine.

“So why are you trying to stop me?”

It was my turn to be curious.  “You don’t… think it’s… weird?”

“Weird?”  The word left his lips on an amused chuckle.  “No, love.”  His grip tightened ever so slightly before relaxing again, a soft, sensual massage.  “Does this feel weird to you?”

I had to wet my lips with my tongue before I could answer.  “No,” I admitted.  “That… actually feels really… really good.”

“Mm-hmm,” he nudged my fingers aside so that he could place a soft kiss at the tip of each nipple.  “So… I’m still waiting for you to tell me exactly why I should stop.”  He kissed me again, lips slightly parted this time to let me feel the heat of his breath.

 I blushed furiously, thankful the sudden surge between my legs was the only wetness I had to contend with.  For the moment.  “Tom,” I whined, as prettily as I could manage.  “What if I… you know…”  His neutral expression told me he was going to be no help filling in the blanks.  “Drip all over you?”

“Well, darling,” he cocked a lascivious eyebrow.  “It’s not like it would be the first time.”

His arrogant grin, the lusty twinkle in his eyes, the inviting bow of his mouth… and the sudden, twisting ache inside me reminded me that it had been days since our bodies had been one.  His name left my lips on a breath of desire as I slipped my hands around his neck, my mouth seeking his as my weight pushed him back onto the bed.  He caught me easily, guiding my hips above him as my hair fell in a dark curtain around us.  I groped his t-shirt free from the waist of his jeans, breaking the kiss just long enough to help him sweep it over his head and toss it aside.  I pressed my bare skin against his; his hand gripped my hair and pulled my head back to expose my throat.  His tongue was soft, strong, tickling as his teeth nipped, and as I rolled my hips above him, grinding against him like a horny teenager in the backseat of a car, he exhaled a throaty, wistful groan. 

A sudden soft, breathy yawn from across the room froze us both stock still; it was comical to watch as we waited to see if our little boy would wake fully or soothe himself back to sleep.  After a moment with no additional whimpers or cries, we dissolved into silent, restrained giggles.  “Michelle!”  He mouthed, almost no sound to his whisper.  “You have to be quiet!”

“Me?” I hissed, just as silent.  “That one was you!”

“Shhhh!”  He laughed, pulling me back into his embrace, sealing his lips once more against mine.

The playful air of our tussle was quickly fading, his cock surging harder and harder beneath me as we kissed and groped desperately at one another.  Curling my fingers in his hair, I yanked my mouth free from his to put it close to his ear.  He took the opportunity to bite down on my neck, and I clenched my teeth against the cry that threatened to tear free and echo through the room.  “Tom,” I whimpered, as softly as I could.  “Please… I need you… Stop for a minute…”

“Why?” He rasped, still eating hungrily at my throat. 

“Oh, God,” I whimpered as the hand not gripping my hair moved to once again palm and squeeze my breast.  “Because if you don’t, I’m going to come right here in my jeans…”

His head snapped back at that, a salacious grin curling his lips.  “Oh… really…?”

“Oh, God… Tom… no…”  I shook my head weakly, knowing I had already sealed my own fate.

“Oh, fuck, Michelle....”  He slid his hand down my body, wedging it snugly against the seam between my legs.  “Yes.”  His hand in my hair tugged, gentle, insistent, until my back was a perfect bow.  “Come on, love,” he encouraged, his voice husky.  “Let me see you come.”  The satin of my panties were slick with my arousal, and the sensation of the fabric sliding between my flesh and my fly was torturously delicious.  Tom’s fingers shifted subtly as I rode his hand, sometimes molding to the seam of my lips, sometimes pressing against my entrance.  His thumb pulsed against my swelling clit, and I tightened my grip on his neck.  “That’s it, little one,” he urged, his voice low, controlled, commanding.  “Come for me now, and I’ll give you my cock.”

Pressing my own hand to my mouth to muffle my cries, I rocked my hips, harder, harder, and then convulsed in his arms, the electric spasms of my climax tickling their way up through my body, wave after wave until I was shuddering and shaking against him.

“Good girl,” he praised in a throaty chuckle as he shifted and turned, moving me to the mattress beneath him.  His hands made quick work of my snap and zipper; I came back to myself enough to help him wriggle us both out of our jeans.  He caught me behind my knees, hooking my legs up over him and bending me nearly in two as he lay his weight on top of me.

 “Fucking little minx,” he growled quietly into my ear.  “God, how I’ve missed you…”

I was opening my mouth to return the sentiment when he plunged, hard and deep.  This time, it was his palm that smothered the surprised and grateful shriek that bubbled up from my chest, his own measured, focused breathing hot and moist against my neck.  “Christ,” he muttered, his jaw clenched tightly.  “SO fucking  tight… so fucking wet…”  He dragged his hand away from my mouth when he sensed I had it under better control, but I immediately began to whip my head back and forth against the bed.

“No, no, no… please, Tom… please… please…”

His rhythm stuttered a bit as he looked down at me in confused curiosity.  “What?” He murmured softly.  “This?”  He put his hand gently back over my lips, clamping down just a bit tighter when I nodded frantically.  “You like this?”  He purred, and I nodded again, moaning softly as his eyes sparked with lusty delight.  “My hand over your mouth?  Smothering your cries as I hold you down?  As my cock pounds away inside you?”  I nodded again, my eyes heavy lidded with need as he pumped his hips with renewed vigor.  “My sweet Michelle,” he chuckled.  “I do love the way you love to play.”

The only sounds after that were the whispery protestations of the mattress as he fucked me into it and the wet, slick sounds of his thrust and withdrawal.  My hands groped weakly at the muscles of his thighs until he demanded I cross them above my head; my orgasm was immediate and intense when he caught my wrists and pinned them to the pillow.  “That’s right, love,” he grunted in approval.   “You’re mine… mine, Michelle.  Forever, and ever, and… oh, fucking HELL…”  He buried his face in my neck as his own culmination caught him in an iron grip, the air bellowing in and out of his lungs as he came, filling me, flowing out of me, and finally collapsing on top of me.  We clung to each other, panting and petting, the damp of our skin and the flood of our release soaking into the comforter beneath us.  Tom rolled us onto our sides, his arms a perfect circle of warmth and protection around me as his lips traced the lines of perspiration over my forehead.  

I don’t know how long we dozed there in the center of the bed.  But eventually, a small, plaintive wail from across the room made our eyes open, our lips curling in sleepy smiles.  “I’ll get him,” Tom whispered, pulling me against him for one last kiss before rising, pulling his boxer briefs on as I crawled under the covers.  “Hey, Jack-Jack,” he cooed as he pushed the bassinet over to my side of the bed.  “You hungry?”  The baby boy yawned as his father lifted him carefully, and when Tom brushed a kiss to one soft little cheek, the little rosebud lips rooted frantically for purchase.  “Oooh, that’s a yes,” he chortled, placing the little sleeper-clad body in my arms. 

“Hiya, Sprout,” I murmured, cradling him close and guiding him to nurse.  He was clumsy in his eagerness, and it took a few attempts to achieve a true latch.  But by the time Tom returned from the kitchen with a few bottles of water, we were tucked into the pillows, his little mouth drawing rhythmically as his eyes blinked solemnly up at me.  He slipped easily into the bed beside me, curling his body around us as if to barricade out the rest of the world. 

“I will never get tired of this,” he grinned, stroking his fingers through the feathery soft curls at our son’s crown.

I snorted.  “Remember you said that in three months,” I teased.  “When he’s cranky with colic and up all night reverse cycling and feverish because he’s cutting his first tooth.”

Tom’s grin was goofy and glorious.  “I can’t wait.”

“You know what?” I giggled as he leaned in to kiss me.  “I believe you.”


	15. Chapter 15

I kept waiting for a shoe to drop.

Those first days at home... the only appropriate word to describe them... blissful.  I'd always known that being a writer by profession was conducive to a multitude of lifestyles; it had never occurred to me that "new mom" would be one of them. Maybe it was just that Tom and I were blessed with an exceptionally sweet and cooperative newborn.  But molding my schedule to my little one's was nearly effortless.  Jack's whimpers and cries would rouse me every three hours or so,  and we would tuck ourselves in for  feeding, his rosebud mouth at my breast, his fingers gripping mine.  And even when he was deeply asleep next to me in our bed, Tom always seemed to know, his long body curling around us in a loving, protective arc. 

And my body?

It was nearly laughable.  After denying me normalcy at almost every turn for more than twenty years, it was as if Mother Nature decided she had finally found a way to make it up to me.  The combination of homeopaths and stimulation and the presence of a tiny warm body in my arms opened the floodgates... literally.  By the end of the first week, I was both nursing Jack to his satisfaction and half-filling the bottles that had come with the breast pump. 

It was a Sunday the first time he slept through the initial ache and throb that told me it was time.  Swaddled in a Moses basket Sarah had given us placed close to the hearth, his little face so smooth and peaceful, I didn't have the heart to wake him. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Tom glancing away from the script on his lap, checking his watch.  His brow furrowed ever so slightly.  "He should be up now, yes?"

I gave a small shrug, shifting the heaviness of my chest subtly with my own hands.  "He knows when he's hungry."  Tom smiled a beautiful, if wistful smile; I crawled across the sofa to gently kiss his lips.  "Let's let him dream awhile longer."  He nuzzled his nose against my cheek, tugging affectionately at my hair.  "I'll be right back."  I kissed him again, then slipped from the couch to climb the stairs. 

Twenty minutes or so later, I heard it.  The tiny, plaintive wail, the creak of the sofa as Tom rose up off of it.  "Jack-Jack," he cooed softly.  I watched from the landing as he lifted him into his arms, bringing the curly little head to rest against his chest.  "There's my boy."  He returned to his spot, tucking himself into the corner before lifting the baby to look into his face.  The tiny mouth stretched in an impressive yawn, one little hand grabbed at his father's nose.  The two regarded each other in mutual loving fascination, and I sighed as I felt the warm fingers of desire tugging gently deep inside me. 

The sound made Tom turn his head, and his face split in a grin.  "There's your mummy," he whispered as the baby gnawed curiously at his small fingers.  "This boy is looking for you, sweet," he teased as I crossed the floor to stand behind him.  "He's positively famished."  We laughed together as Jack's brow furrowed, his head shaking from side to side as he rooted fruitlessly against his fist. 

"I can see that," I smiled, leaning over to kiss Tom's cheek before dangling the bottle I held in my hand in front of him.  "You're up, Daddy."

The look that spread across his handsome features was indescribable - excitement, joy, anxiety, doubt, even a little fear.  "Oh... love," he sat a bit straighter, shifting the baby into the cradle of his arms.  "I don't... I mean... you two... it's so lovely, you do so well together..."

I snorted a gentle laugh.  "Listen here, Hiddleston, if you think I'm going to take every single feeding 'til this kid's on solids you are sorely mistaken."  I placed the bottle firmly in his hands before circling the couch to sink down next to him.  "Come on," I urged playfully, cuddling against his side.  "Get on with it before he gums himself down to a stump."

Tom smiled nervously, moving Jack's head into the crook of his arm and lifting him upright ever so slightly.  "Okay, Sprout," he murmured.  "Mummy seems to think we're ready for this... what do you say?"  He brushed the nipple lightly against one rosy cheek, and the baby immediately darted to catch it with his lips.  We both burst into laughter at his reaction to the rubber: a confused wince, as if he'd tasted something sour.  For a moment, Tom hesitated, until I showed him how a gentle squeeze would bring forth a drop of milk.  When the familiar flavor hit the infant's palate, he tucked in eagerly, if a bit awkwardly at first.  After a moment, however, his little body melted into Tom's embrace, and the only sounds that filled the room were the gentle bubbling of the milk being pulled from the bottle and our little one's contented swallows. 

"My God, Michelle," Tom breathed in wonder.  "He's such a miracle."  I nodded in silent agreement, resting my head against his shoulder as he turned to brush his lips against my forehead.  "Thank you, my love."

I left him to bond with his boy; he later found me in the laundry room, after the baby's belly was full and he was tucked safely into his bassinet.  The warmth from the dryer as I leaned over it was nothing compared to the heat from Tom's body  as he fucked me against it, slow and deep, our pajama pants around our ankles, his fingers in my mouth.

Like I said... waiting for a shoe to drop.  Only... it never did.

*          *          *          *          *

"I thought they'd go down more."

Emma and I were milling about my bedroom, putting the last minute touches on our cocktail wear.  She stood in front of my full length mirror, turned in profile.  Her amazing genetic composition and energetic determination had brought her pre-baby body back quite rapidly after delivery, with one marked exception.   Somehow, the lack of nursing combined with the binding she had done to dry up her unused supply had left her with an incredible rack.  She smoothed her hands over her breasts, down to her waist, twisting and turning, preening just a bit as I giggled.

"You don't sound like you're complaining."  I sniffed.  She had no reason to; her silver satin dress was edged with shimmering detail, her hair was spun gold piled atop her head save for two or three glossy ringlets that trailed down her neck.  She looked every bit an angel of the season.

The party had, of course, been her idea, although Tom had thrown himself into the planning with aplomb as well.  I'd never been able to adequately explain to the two of them why the idea of a baby shower had spooked me so much, but they had respected the way the suggestion drained the blood from my face and made me shift in my seat, and hadn't pushed for more.  Now that Jack was here, healthy and beautiful, the new house truly felt like our home, and Christmas was approaching fast.  There was simply no point in denying that a celebration was in order. 

Emma and I spent three days menu planning from the sofa and the recliner in front of the fire, Jack nursing at my breast or sleeping in her arms, as Tom and Ben and Sarah and Diana and James bustled about the house, inside and out.  Lights were strung, garlands hung, wreaths of red and green and silver and gold, save for one with royal and robin's egg blue satin that announced to the world from the front door, "It's a boy!"  Tom and I exchanged secret smiles when refusing their help with the tree; they regarded us and one another with amused confusion before moving on to other chores.  That tradition was ours; and after the fir was decked from root to top, as Jack goggled up at the twinkling lights from his cradle, we made slow, sweet love on the thick, lush carpet beside it.

Every guest on the list had responded with an enthusiastic "yes", and as I clipped my earrings in place, I could see from the window the first headlights winking through the fog from the end of the private road that led to our driveway.  The bedroom door swung open with a flourish.  "Ladies," Tom crooned adorably, shifting Jack's weight in his arms, "would you care to join us downstairs, please?"

"Oh, my God, give me that boy!"  Emma scuttled across the room to take the baby from him.  Sarah had found the soft velour sleeper, black with white trim that gave Jack the body of a tiny tuxedo penguin, complete with red satin bowtie beneath his chin and small padded tail at his rump.  His flaxen curls peeked out from under the matching hat.  He stretched and yawned before curling into her chest, and she rubbed his back gently as she carried him out of the room.  I smiled at Tom, shaking my head a little as he held me at arm's length. 

"You're an absolute vision," he murmured before pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist. 

My own dress was simple red silk, flirty and flowing, chosen mainly for the v-neck that would allow my son easy access when he was hungry. "I had to do my men proud," I batted my eyelashes coyly.

"Oh, you do, little bird.  You do."  With that, he drew me into his arms to taste my freshly glossed lips.

It wasn't long before the house was full of music and laughter and life; I nearly snorted champagne out my nose when Downey glanced around and dubbed it a fangirl's wettest Chrismas fantasy.  Chris and Elsa exclaimed over how much Jack had grown since they'd seen him in the hospital; all I could think was that he looked so tiny tucked against the mighty Thor's massive bicep.  Josie assured me that I had another star on my hands, and that she would personally come calling for him should she ever head a production that required an infant.  Russell assured me again and again that he was over the moon happy for me, even as he hid behind Dennis when I tried to place the baby in his arms.  Ben dragged Tom and I into the kitchen, insisting we give an opinion about the stocking stuffer he'd chosen for Carrie; Tom had to put his hand over my mouth to smother my squeal of delight at the sight of the impressively sparkling rock.  And it was then that Luke appeared in the doorway, Jack nestled in his embrace, busily trying to chew the buttons off his shirt.

"Luke!" I cooed.  "You look so capable with a baby in your arms."

"Yes, well..."  His face flushed a bit.  "I don't think I'm quite capable of providing what he's looking for, so..."  He hefted the warm little body my direction.  "Off to Mummy with you."

Sure enough, as soon as Jack caught my scent, he let out a wail of pitiful frustration.  "Oh, my boy," I soothed softly, turning my back to the men before fumbling my dress out of the way.  "Tom... do you mind?"

He was already out the door, returning a moment later with my wraparound shawl.  He draped it over us just as Jack found his latch, and I turned back with a satisfied sigh.

"Wow," Ben's hands were deep in his pockets, his brows high on his forehead.  "So you just...  he just... goes to it, then...?"  I nodded with a small grin as Tom wound an arm around my shoulders, beaming with pride.  "Hm," Ben tugged adorably at his ear.  "You can't even tell there's a baby under there..."

After he'd had his fill, I carried him to the nursery for a clean diaper, then tucked his sleeping form into the bassinet and turned on the monitor.  His little lips continued to suckle as he dreamed, and I kissed his forehead, grabbing the portable receiver as I left the room.  I had just reached the bottom of the stairs when the doorbell rang; I answered with a playful scowl.  "You're late... what would Steve Rogers have to say about that?"

"He'd be both ashamed and disappointed," Chris grinned sheepishly, shuffling through the door and kissing my cheek as he shrugged off his coat.  "He'd probably insist I drop and give him fifty then go sit in a quiet corner to think about what I'd done."

"Well, good luck finding a quiet corner around here," I hung his coat from the rack, then squeaked as he dragged me into his embrace.

"Come here you gorgeous thing," he lifted me off the floor.  "When are you going to leave that gangly, goofy Brit and run away with me?"

I was opening my mouth to reply when a low growl just over my shoulder stopped me cold.  "Foolish soldier," I shivered in delight as Loki grabbed me from behind, dragging me out of Chris' arms and into his own.  "Do I have to put you on your ass again for you to learn not to touch what's mine?"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Evan's put his hands in the air.  "Here, here, let me kneel in apology..."

Tom caught one of his hands before he could get too low and pulled him into a hug.  "Get over here, man," he chuckled as they clapped one another on the back.  "I was worried you weren't going to make it..."

We led the tardy Avenger into the living room, where a loud chorus of cheers greeted his arrival.  With few places to sit, Tom pulled me into his lap, taking great pleasure in letting me feel his appreciation for my proximity against my thighs, my ass. 

After a few moments, Emma's lilting laugh from across the room caught Evans' attention, and I snickered a little as he eyed her appreciatively from crown to toe and back again.  "Man," he took a sip from his beer.  "Who's the siren in silver?" 

I was surprised to feel Tom bristle ever so slightly, his shoulders tensing just a bit beneath my arm.  "That's Emma," he offered coolly.  "My sister."

"DUDE!" Chris sat bolt upright.  "That's your _sister_?"  I bit my lip to hold back my giggle as Tom eyed me sideways before nodding.  "Not... not the one who had the baby for you...?”  We nodded together, and he blanched hilariously.  "The one who had the baby for you?  No, not that tiny little thing... no..."  As the realization sank in, he balled his hand into a fist and punched Tom firmly on the shoulder.  "DUDE!  Come ON!  Hook a brother up..."

Tom shook his head, less than amused, even though he was chuckling as he spoke.  "No.  I will not hook you up with my baby sister..."

"I will!"  I was on my feet, my hand clasping Chris' before either of them knew what was happening.  Tom grabbed at my skirt as I dragged Chris towards the hearth where Emma stood chatting animatedly with Elsa, but I side-stepped him easily.  I made the introductions quickly, then darted away in haste as my husband made a beeline to corner me around the corner against the wall.

"What on Earth possessed you to do that?" His eyes burned into mine.

"Tom," I cooed adorably.  "He’s your friend!  He's cute!"  He scowled at me, and I tangled the silk of his tie through my fingers.  "He's sweet!"  He glanced over at the pair, who were clearly enjoying their conversation, and the lines in his brow deepened.  "Tom," I purred, snuggling against his chest.  "She's been all alone for months."  I blinked up at him from under my bangs.  "He's a good guy, a decent, smart, hard-working guy who is loyal to his friends and loves his family..."

"All stateside, by the way..."

"Oh, come on, Tom," I chided gently.  "They're having a conversation at a Christmas party.  He's not going to abduct her away to Boston tonight..."

Our discussion was suddenly interrupted by an indignant squall from the baby monitor.  We both turned our heads towards the sound, but before we could move, Emma was heading for the staircase, her fingers braided through Chris' as she pulled him along.  "We'll get him... we'll get him... he and Chris haven't been officially introduced yet..."

I bit my lip, sinking into my shoulders with chagrin as Tom bore down on me.  "You are so lucky I love you," he growled.  "You troublesome little brat."

"I'll make it up to you," I twittered, using his tie to pull him closer.

"Oh, yes," he husked, grabbing my ass firmly before smacking it soundly.  "You most certainly will."

The evening wound slowly to a close, and once the last guest had trundled off into the chilly English night, Tom tucked Jack against his chest and me under his arm as we climbed the stairs together.  “So,” I lay my head against his chest.  “Exactly how much trouble am I in?”

“Oh, Michelle,” Tom sighed heavily, laying the baby in his bassinet so he could shrug off his jacket.  “I do think you should have discussed it with me first.”  He pulled the knot of his tie free and unbuttoned his collar.  I tried to pull in my pout, but he caught me, tugging on my lip with weary affection. “Darling, I know how much you love her.  How much you appreciate what she’s done for us.”  He stepped closer to take me in his arms.  “I know that, for some bizarre reason, you feel guilty that she’s alone.  And I know you want to change that, if you can.  But sweetheart…” He trailed off, sighing once more.  “I just think we should have discussed it first.” 

“You’re right,” I nodded, winding my arms around his waist, grateful when he let me cuddle against him.  “I’m sorry.”

“You’re lucky, is what you are,” he snarled playfully, and I giggled as he buried his face in my neck.  “Were I not so exhausted I’d turn your sweet little ass at least as red as this dress…”

Not wanting to press my luck, I accepted his kiss to my lips before sealing them shut and scuttling off to the bathroom.  I couldn't help but smile at the sight waiting for me when, hair brushed and face washed and cocktail dress swapped for my robe, I turned off the bathroom light.

My Tom.  Bare feet.  Blue flannel pajama pants.  Dark curls feathering the pillow beneath his head.  Jack's soft little cheek pillowed on the bare skin above his heart, his large, elegant hands curled protectively over our son's well-padded, fleece-covered bottom.  He had already dozed off, but my weight shifting the bed as I slipped beneath the covers roused him, his eyes blinking wearily open.  "Hey, love," he hummed thickly.  "I'll put him down, just give me a sec..."

"No," I lay my hand on his bare shoulder before he could start to rise.  "Go back to sleep."

"Mmm," he frowned a bit, even though his lids were already obeying my instructions.  "Not supposed to sleep with the baby in the bed."

"It's all right, Tom."  I pressed a kiss to his forehead.  "I'll keep watch, make sure you don’t squish him."

"Oh, love," spoken through a head-splitting yawn.  "You certain?"

"I am," I assured him, kissing him once more.  "Go back to sleep."

"M'kay," he was already drifting.  "I love you, Michelle."

"I love you, Tom," I whispered, propping my head on my arm as my vigil began.  "I love you, too."


	16. Chapter 16

I was just tucking myself back into my wraparound blouse when the doorbell chimed.  The look on Jack's face was comical, all wide eyes and a surprised "O" of a mouth; I mirrored it with my own.  "What was that, Jack?" I asked animatedly, swinging him up into my arms as I rose from the recliner.  "What was that?"  He gripped my shirt in his little fists, cooing excitedly as I crossed to the front door.  Just over a month old, he looked more and more like Tom every day, save the pouty lips and stubborn chin that even I had to admit clearly came from me.  I stroked his curls as I kissed his forehead, turning him away from the incoming bluster of December wind as I opened the door. 

"Sissy!" Emma scuttled inside, pressing her lips to my cheek, already stripping off her cold weather gear to have a warm spot for the baby.  "Gimme gimme gimme!" 

I placed Jack in her embrace with a giggle before ushering her new constant companion through the door as well. "Get in here, Evans, before you freeze."

"Hiya, gorgeous," Chris swept me off my feet in a gigantic hug, his nose frigid against my neck as I squealed.  When he set me down, he kissed my left cheek noisily.  "That's from me."  He kissed me again on the right.  "That's from Hems.  And this..."  He dipped me dramatically and nuzzled my neck beneath my ear.  "Is from Tom."

I couldn't help but sigh longingly as he pulled me upright once more.  Tom had only been gone for ten days, doing green screen re-shoots in Los Angeles, but it felt like ages had passed in his absence.  Even our morning phone call, concluded only three hours prior, seemed days gone.  "Thank you," I smiled, helping him out of his coat and hanging it on the rack next to Emma's.  "I'll show my appreciation by **not** giving you something to give him in return."

"Hey," Chris shot me a playful grin.  "No need to hold back on my account.  I know this Hiddleston here is a damn fine kisser," he wrapped an arm around my sister's shoulders.  "I'd lay one on the big guy for you if you wanted me to."

"And he'd probably lay you out flat," Emma giggled, her focus still on the baby in her arms, who was staring up at her in worshipful wonder.

"Oh, come on," Chris chided gently.  "The idea of this is growing on him," he buried his nose in her hair as he reached over to stroke the crown of Jack's head.  "Right?" He looked to me for affirmation.

"Yes. Slowly," I nodded.  "And like fungus, but yes."

"Eh, doesn't matter," Emma delivered a peck to Chris’ cheek before moving into the living room.  "He's home in a few days anyway, yes?"

"Day after tomorrow," I confirmed with a sigh, flopping back into the recliner as the three of them sank down onto the sofa.  "And not a moment too soon."

Emma glanced around at the relative tidiness of the house.  "Well, you look like you've been doing amazingly well on your own."

"Mmm," I hummed through a yawn.  "I haven't made the bed since he left, I've been bathing Jack in the shower with me, I'm almost out of clean spoons, and you should see the laundry room."

We all laughed together, Jack wiggling excitedly on Emma's lap at the sound.  "Well, that's why we're here," she smiled, her eyes shining.  "Get your arse upstairs and get some sleep!"

I didn't need to be asked twice.  "He just nursed for thirty-five," I said as I rose from my chair.  "That should last him three, maybe four hours..."

"Yes, yes," she bobbed her head in playful exasperation.  "Milk in the fridge, bottle warmer by the sink..."

"He peed through his last diaper..."

"I know where the clean clothes are, Michelle," she laughed.  "Go to bed!"

I groaned in relief, holding my arms out for my son.  She handed him over, and I danced kisses over his nose and cheeks as he goggled and grinned.  "Be good for Auntie Emmy and Uncle Chris," I teased, holding him close and breathing in the smell of talc and baby shampoo and fleece.  "I love you, Jack-Jack."  When I was finished, I offered him to Evans, whose face lit up brighter than the Christmas tree by the fireplace. 

"Come here, monster," he growled, and I watched over my shoulder as I climbed the first few stairs.  Emma snuggled closer to his broad shoulder, hugging his arm in both of hers as he lay the baby on his lap, tickling his little tummy as they cooed and crooned softly to him.  Smiling, I left them alone and trudged down the hall.  I closed the bedroom door with a sigh and made a beeline for the bed, sliding in on Tom's side and curling myself around his pillow.  I feel asleep quickly, his scent in my nostrils, his name on my lips.

I’d planned to nap just a few short hours, so I bolted upright after blinking my eyes open to see the bedside clock reading just after four-thirty.  I could hear Emma’s voice and Jack’s giggle through the baby monitor, and I hurried down the hall to the doorway of the as yet barely used nursery.  “My God… I’m so sorry…”

“Sorry for what?”  Em was just fastening a fresh diaper over the baby’s hips as he kicked his little feet in the air, and she glanced at me over her shoulder with confusion on her face.

“I slept the entire day away,” I said through a yawn, ruffling a hand through my hair as I crossed to her side.

Emma laughed as she zipped Jack’s little sleeper closed once more.  “For pity’s sake, Michelle, that’s what you were supposed to do.”  She lifted the baby beneath his arms, holding him so he could stand on the surface of the changing table.  “Jack?  Tell silly Mummy that we are just fine.”  He squeaked as if in agreement before shoving one tiny fist between his wet, pink gums.

“My sweet boy,” I leaned in to kiss one rosy cheek, then grunted in irritation as the scent of his skin and hair led my body to send to spreading spots of wetness over the front of my blouse.  “Lovely,” I muttered.

Emma laughed gently.  “That’s actually perfect timing.”  She handed him to me with a kiss to his forehead.  “Why don’t you feed him,” she gestured to the rocker by the crib.  “Then pump, then grab a nice, long, hot shower… alone.”

I snuggled the infant under my chin, swaying slowly on my feet.  “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.  Chris just finished up the dishes and I was folding laundry before Mr. Stinky here demanded clean trousers...”

“Emma!” I blanched.  “You were not supposed to clean my house!”

“Oh, get on,” she waved a hand in the air.  “It wasn’t that big of a mess to start.  Besides,” her eyes held a smitten sparkle.  “It’s rather fun playing house with this big lug.”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” I hummed teasingly as she blushed and giggled.  “I just bet.”

“Seriously!”  She grabbed me by the shoulders and ushered me to the rocker just as Jack began to root against my neck in irritation.  “Nurse!  Pump!  Bring him down, then shower.  We’ll figure out dinner after that.”

I did as I was told, delivering two bottles of milk to the fridge and my son to his aunt where she and Chris lounged in front of the television.  “Monster!”  Chris extended his arms to take the baby from me, and I pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

“Payment for domestic services rendered,” I grinned.

“Anytime, gorgeous.”  He dropped me a wink.  “Did you see that?” He bragged to the infant, who was staring at him in wide-eyed fascination.  “Your momma kissed me. All the Hiddleston women are kissing on me today!  How cool is that?   Don’t tell Daddy, okay?”  Emma scooted closer to him in playful delight; I’m certain I was long forgotten even before I left the room. Of course, my bedroom was spotlessly tidy when I pushed open the door, the drapes pulled back to let the late afternoon sun spill across the floor, the bed made, the clothes and baby blankets that had been tossed to the floor cleared away.  Shaking my head in resigned gratitude, I headed for the bathroom to complete Emma’s final directive.  I stayed under the shower spray until it ran cold, enjoying the luxury of two shampoos, conditioner, and after a moment’s thought as to when I might have the time or privacy again, I slid open the door to snag one of Tom’s razors from the cabinet above the toilet. I grinned to myself, knowing full well I was courting  punishment, not caring in the slightest.  I was wrapped in my robe, toweling my hair dry, when I opened the door and saw them, my mouth dropping open in surprise.

In the center of the impeccably made bed: a black garment bag, a box from Agent Provocateur, an envelope of ivory parchment, and a single, long-stemmed red rose.  My heart began to pound in my chest as I slid the plain card from inside the envelope to read the familiar, looping scrawl:

 

_My Little One –_

_A car will arrive for you at eight o’clock.  Be dressed and ready.  No questions._

_Wear what is appropriate for dinner, bring along what must be kept private until after._

_You will sit through your meal with these treats in your purse at your side._

_Knowing they are there._

_Knowing they are yours, for you._

_Knowing that you are mine, for me._

_And darling?  Leave your phone on the bedside table._

_Your Loving Tom_

 

The dress was sin woven into black satin: snug with a plunging neckline and a slit that would easily reveal the spot where my suspenders met my stockings if I crossed my legs just right.  The box from AP held a basque that was invitingly naughty, peekaboo lace edged in purple and pink and orange, tiny satin bows, with matching panties and stockings of violet silk.  And under that, the treats he wrote of, erotic little promises of the play to come: a lacy black masquerade blindfold, and black stain tasseled rope dangling from an elegant golden double cuff.

My hands trembled as I twisted my hair into curls I could pin atop my head; I almost had to ask Emma to come and help me with my eyeliner. Finally satisfied, I wiggled into my attire for the night, completing the look with simple black heels that would bring my mouth that much closer to Tom’s when we stood toe to toe.  A spritz of his favorite perfume, and my new accessories disappeared into my black clutch.  I was halfway to the stairs when I realized my mobile was still in my hand; I hurried back to leave it on my nightstand.    

Chris was crossing from the kitchen to join Emma on the sofa, Jack cradled in his arms, when I descended the stairs on shaking legs.  “Oh, holy shit!”  He stopped short, regarding me with wide eyes, jaw agape.  Emma bounced to her feet and hurried to his side, clapping her hands in childish delight.

“Oh, my God, Michelle,” she gushed excitedly.  “You look absolutely breathtaking…”

“You see that, Jackie boy?” Chris held the baby up to face me.  “That? Is what we call a MILF.”

Emma was quick to swat him angrily on the shoulder.  “Don’t say that to my nephew!!!”

“What?” He shrugged away defensively.  “She is!  I mean, not me.  Not that I personally LF…”

“That’s his MUMMY!” She hissed, smacking him again.

“Exactly, babe!  That’s the M…”

Laughing nervously, I moved to stroke a finger along my son’s cheek.  “I can only assume you were in on this,” I glanced at my sister.  “So I can only assume you’re okay with babysitting…”

After a flurry of kisses and goodbyes and a few blinked-back tears at the thought of my first night away from my sweet little boy, I bundled myself into my coat and scarf.  At precisely eight o’clock, a sleek black Cadillac eased into the drive, and I was whisked away into the foggy English night.

The streets of London were bedecked with lights and garland and all the colors of the season, and I was reeling from the beauty of it all when we pulled up to the door of the Ritz.  The driver offered me his gloved hand, and when I was safely on my feet, another envelope.  “Open it inside, love,” he urged.  “You don’t want to catch your death out here.”

The concierge inside helped me shrug off my extra layers, and once I was alone, I gazed upon my second directive of the evening.

 

_My Little One –_

_There is a champagne cocktail waiting for you at the bar.  Sip it slowly while you wait for me._

_I won’t be long._

_Your Loving Tom_

 

The cool, crisp bubbles tickled my nose, and I tried not to fidget in my chair as my eyes scanned the room.  But, of course, he found me first, his arm circling my waist discreetly from behind as his breath warmed the back of my neck.  “What I wouldn’t give to just bend you face first over that mahogany and fuck you from behind,” he murmured casually, as if he were telling me the latest stock returns or weather report.  “All these people watching me claim you as my own personal little toy…”

I swallowed hard, closing my eyes as I leaned back into the heat of his body.  “Tom…”

“Hello, my love,” he mouthed gently at the cartilage of my ear.  “I missed you terribly.”

“I missed you,” I turned my face to nuzzle his cheek with a grin.  “You big liar.”

He chuckled against my temple, his thumb stroking a gentle arc over my belly.  “Forgive the deception, sweet.  I really wanted to surprise you.”

“You did,” I turned on the stool to face him, and all other words died on my lips.  Criminally, obscenely handsome, his dark hair twisting in soft curls that begged for the tugging of my fingers, his freshly shaven jaw set, full of calm command.  Black Armani suit, slate grey tie, crisp white shirt… my tongue clicked in my arid mouth as every drop of moisture rushed to the cleft between my legs.  I saw his teeth clench ever so slightly, his eyes closed for a brief moment.  “Tom?” I lay a hand on his chest, marveling at the strong, yet still sedate, beating of his heart.  “What is it?”

His irises were electric blue rings around an ocean of black when he opened his eyes once more, and he leaned close.  To anyone else, he would have appeared a gentleman suitor trying to sneak a chaste kiss to his intended’s cheek.  No one else, of course, could hear the gravel of his voice: “I can smell how much you want me.”

I would have swooned at his words had he not lifted his hands to caress my face, tilting my head back to his liking.  I parted my lips for him, and he kissed me; soft, sensual, the slow burn of his mouth over mine that made me all at once want to beg him to make it last while giving it now.. now... _now_.  He released me, all too soon and just soon enough, his eyes boring into mine as he lifted my glass from the bar.  He tipped the last of the sparkling amber into my waiting mouth, then his arm around my waist slid me from my chair.  “Come, love.  Our table is waiting.”

Sitting across from him in the restaurant, I slid the instep of my foot up along the taut muscle of his calf as he made casual small talk about his days in the studio.  I told him funny little stories about Jack, about our visits to his mother and his love for the Pooh bear Tom had sent from California.  The intensity of our tryst had nearly faded until our salads arrived, and the waiter discreetly slipped another envelope under my plate.  Tom regarded me coolly as I opened it, and I felt my cheeks flush and burn at once.

 

_My Little One –_

_It’s quite warm in here.  You should probably shed a little something, get some relief._

_I’ve only seen the panties I chose for you in pictures online._

_I’d like them now, please.  Slip them off and give them to me._

_Your Loving Tom_

 

His grin was wicked perfection when I met his eyes once more, and I couldn’t help but whimper just a bit.  Dabbing my lips with the corner of my napkin, I moved to push my chair back.

“Darling?” His eyes twinkled with mirth.  “Where are you going?”

I slid the card back into the envelope, holding it up.  “I have instructions to follow.”  He was silent a moment, and I could feel the blood that had rushed to fill my face only seconds before draining quickly.  “Tom… no…”

He gave an almost imperceptible nod.  “You’re perfectly capable of following those instructions from right there.”

“Tom…” I hissed softly.

“No arguments, love, “he sniffed quietly, lifting his glass to his lips.  “Don’t make me wait.”

I held his gaze for one long moment, silently pleading with my eyes and the moue of my mouth.  He was amused, but unflinching.  Refusing to glance around for fear of drawing unwanted attention, I shifted carefully in my seat, using the slit in my skirt to my advantage while wondering if that's why he'd made such a choice in the tailoring in the first place.  My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I was certain it would turn every eye in the place my direction; that was, if my chairbound acrobatics weren’t enough.  Tom watched every blush, every hitch, every wiggle with loving satisfaction, chuckling out loud when I dropped my napkin to the floor in order to lean over without looking like a complete loon.  Finally, after unhooking the wisp of lace from the toe of  my pump, I tucked the fabric into my fist.  He held out his hand, fingering the material longingly after I placed it in his grasp.  “Brilliant little bird,” he smiled, tucking them into his jacket pocket.

Dinner was nothing short of spectacular, but by the time dessert arrived, I was more than ready to sink my teeth into something quite different.  I was opening my mouth to say so when Tom reached into his pocket once more, pulling out a long velvet box and placing it next to my plate.  “Happy Christmas, darling.”

“Tom,” I cooed in delight.  “Christmas is five days away!”

He shrugged adorably.  “I don’t feel like waiting.”  He nudged my ankle beneath the table.  “Open it.  Please.”

I did as I was told, gasping softly.  Simple, elegant, shining in the candlelight, the thick braided platinum was heavy as I tented it over my fingers.  “Oh, my God… Tom… it’s gorgeous.”  He rose smoothly from his chair, taking the choker from me and unclasping it.  I shivered as he placed it around my neck, smiling shyly at the nearby diners who were watching the display with amusement and approval.

“They see a husband giving his wife a necklace,” he murmured into my ear.  “So innocent, so sweet.  Eheheheheh.  Little do they know,” he dusted a chaste kiss to my cheek.  “I’ve just collared you in front of them.”

My entire body was a taut wire of thrumming hunger by the time he pulled my chair back for me, escorting me through the restaurant and lobby with only the palm of his hand at the small of my back.  Up the elevator to a private suite on the seventh floor, and I sighed as he slipped the key card into the lock.  “Thank God…”

He looked at me with a grin.  “What’s that, love?”

I stepped close, slipping my arms around his neck.  “I have been waiting… so long… for this.”  I drew his head down to mine, and his tongue filled my mouth with the flavors of chocolate and coffee and the spice of fine Irish whiskey.  His hands spanned my waist, searing me through the softness of my dress.

And as my head fell back on my neck… as his teeth scraped fire along the column of my throat… the quiet thunder of his voice in my ear…

“Oh, my little one… your wait is nowhere near over…”


	17. Chapter 17

I only had to take a few steps into the beautifully decorated suite to realize he wasn’t kidding, wasn’t exaggerating. 

Safety shears sat on the nightstand next to several bottles of water, a small vial of lube, and a bucket of ice.  The king-sized bed was dressed with an extra comforter, the pillows stacked neatly on the floor in the corner. But it was what lay innocuously in the middle of the mattress that truly made me tremble with aching anticipation: a long and thin but sturdy looking bar bracketed by two well-padded cuffs.  I swayed back against Tom as his lips grazed my ear, turning my gaze up to meet his.

“A spreader bar?”

He nodded.  “I told you I wanted to try one.”

I smiled up at him.  “You did.”

He kissed the corner of my mouth with all the tenderness of a shy schoolboy, filling my body with warmth and love and overwhelming trust.  “I love you so much, Michelle.”

“I love you, Tom,” I closed my eyes as he held me.  “I’m yours.”

I could feel his smile curling against my neck.  “Word, love?”

“Iris.”

“My perfect little bird.”  Another kiss to my cheek, and he glided across the floor to sink into the armchair in the corner.  “Let’s begin, shall we?”  He grinned, crossing one long, muscled leg over the other.  “Take down your hair.”

My eyes never wavered from his as I pulled the pins and clips loose, letting the curls uncoil and fall with just the pull of gravity.  When the last strands were free, I shook my head a bit, running my fingers over my scalp.  “Exquisite,” he breathed in approval.  “Now remove your dress.”  Again I held his gaze, desire burning in my cheeks as I reached back to tug down the zipper that ran along my spine.  I could hear his breath hitch ever so slightly in his chest as the satin slipped down to pool at my feet.  I stepped out of it, smoothing it out and draping it lovingly over the dresser before returning to the spot where he’d left me.  ‘Excellent, my love.”  The warm endorsement in his tone turned my knees to jelly, but I knew better than to step out of my heels without permission.  He seemed to catch my train of thought, and he laughed just a little.  “Steady, sweet girl.”

“Yes, Sir,” I murmured.

“Mmm, sir… I like that.”  His subtle shift in his chair let me know his own desire was growing, quite literally.  “You brought your new little treats with you, yes?”  I nodded, and he shifted again.  “Bring them to me, please.”

I could feel his gaze burning over me as I fetched my clutch bag, opening it and removing the cuffs and the blindfold with hands that trembled more than a little.  When I approached him, he uncrossed his legs, spreading them wide and patting one thigh.  “Sit, little bird.”  I obeyed, and watched his eyes dance along the plaited platinum at my throat.  He traced his fingertips over it, his grin widening as I shivered and swayed a little.  "You like it."

It wasn't a question.  "I love it," I affirmed all the same.

"You've wanted one for some time."  Another statement.  Bowing my head to stare at my hands, I nodded, another affirmation.  A single strong fingertip under my chin brought my gaze back to his.  "I want you to tell me why you never said anything, why you never asked for it."  I swallowed hard, feeling tears fill my eyes as I struggled to form the words that stubbornly refused to come.  "Michelle," his tone swirled dark, the exact push he knew I needed; I'd have purred beneath his touch would he not have seen it as a stall.  "I'm waiting."

I held out my left hand in a simple gesture.  "I assumed these were my collar."

His smile was encouraging, his hand rubbing at the nape of my neck.  "They are."  He rolled the necklace against my skin, making me tremble anew.  "But you wanted this.  Clearly," he leaned in to tug at it with his teeth.  His eyes were burning when he looked into mine once more.  "Why didn't you ask for it?"

I took a deep breath.  "Because I didn't want you to be ashamed of me."

His brow furrowed in confusion, worry, and just a hint of anger.  "What?"

I forced myself to lift my chin a notch.  "If these are  my collar," I spun my rings on my finger.  "Shouldn't they be enough?  Isn't wanting this," I fingered the choker reverently.  "Just an insecurity?  Me being silly and uncertain, asking for another symbol to show the word I'm yours?"

"Oh, Michelle," he shook his head, taking my face in his hands and kissing me deeply.  "This is not some empty symbol for the rest of the world.  You're exactly right, love - you're marked.  Everyone who matters, who cares in any way knows you belong to me.  We've both seen to that.  Jack sees to that.  This..."  He stroked the chain lovingly.  "This is us.  Ours."  His eyes swirled with hungry longing.  "This is my touch, always on the delicate skin of your throat, always holding you, gently, unobtrusively, never letting go."  He blinked against the shimmer of his own emotion.  "You've never held your head so high as you have from the moment I clipped this around your neck.  You're so proud to be mine... love... how on Earth could you think I'd be ashamed of that?"  The love in his eyes set my blood ablaze beneath my skin, and I arched into his chest as he kissed me once more. 

 The soft clink of the cuffs in my hands brought us back to the moment; he took them from me without another word.  I watched as he opened and closed them, tugging and twisting, testing the safety release over and over until he was satisfied.  He lifted his face to mine expectantly, and I held my wrists out in wordless offering.  He snapped them easily in place, then lifted the circle of my arms, draping them over his neck.  He ran the tip of one finger along my lips.  “Tell me again, Michelle,” he whispered softly. 

“I’m yours, Tom,” I whispered in reply.  “Yours… always yours… only yours…”

He drew my mouth to his, pulling me more fully into his lap.  I stroked his hair as we kissed, slow, deep; long lazy sweeps of our tongues against one another, groping lips, gently nibbling teeth.  He hooked two fingers under the front of my choker to tug me gently, this way, that way, until we were both drunk on the sensation, my yielding of control as he claimed it.  I wanted it to last forever, and yet, I’d never wanted him, burned for him more.  He chuckled gleefully into my mouth as I shifted against his leg.  “Yes, you naughty, wet little thing,” he teased, tugging playfully at my collar once more.  “You’ve soaked my trousers through.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, offering him my most sorrowful pout.

“You shouldn’t be,” the tip of his tongue played at the corner of his mouth.  “Everything I have planned for this sweet little cunt tonight,” he bounced me on his leg, sending a jolt of pure, erotic thrill straight to my core.  “The wetter you are, the better off you’ll be.”  I moaned softly at the thought, and he laughed sweetly again before rising, lifting me to carry me over to the bed.

He sat me carefully at the foot, untangling himself from my arms. With the blindfold still gripped loosely in my hand, I knew he expected me to watch him as he worked.  Grabbing the spreader, he knelt at my feet, pressing a kiss to each knee as he buckled the cuffs in place.  He worked quickly, efficiently, but took his time to check that the padded leather didn’t grip too tight. He looked up at me when he was finished, question in his eyes.  “Feels all right?”

I smiled sullenly.  “I can’t close my legs.”

He snorted adorably.  “That, little one, is exactly the point.”  He kissed me again, stroking my hair back from my face.  “Lie back, love.  Arms above your head.”

I obeyed, and he helped me scoot higher on the mattress until the rope on the cuffs would reach the headboard.  I licked my lips as I watched the elegance of his fingers, the fluid strength of his hands as he secured the pull away knot with practiced ease; at the cue of a quirked brow, I tugged experimentally until he was satisfied I was effectively bound in place.  He knelt next to me then, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, the tip of my nose.  “Are you ready for the dark, love?”

“One more kiss?”

“Always.”  His eyes slid shut but mine stayed open, and I basked in the bliss that washed over him as I breathed him in, giving back as much of myself as I could.  I couldn't help but whimper when he pulled away, but I took the moment he gave me, memorizing the sight of him to hold in my mind: his curls twisting up from his forehead, the satisfied-still-hungry glow of his skin, the pride and desire that swirled in his cerulean eyes, the reassuring, lusty curve of his lips.  I gave a small nod, and the cool satin snugged carefully against my lids.  His breath was warm, his mouth close to my ear.  "I love you... I love you... I love you."

The bed shifted as he turned, and I allowed myself a long, shuddering sigh of longing.  I could hear the soft rustle of fabric, and I trembled as a whisper of silk brushed over my lips.  "Tonight is for us."  Another soft caress.  "For your pleasure and mine.  Because we are the same as we've always been, love.  You are mine, I am yours.  However," another feather-light brush, and I realized: he was tickling my lips with tails of his tie.  "Our circumstances have changed... and there's a lesson to be learned..."

_Oh, dear God..._

"Tell me, Michelle."

My trembling deepened to a full body quake.  "I need to learn to keep quiet."

I could hear the smile in his chuckle, and tears of anticipation pooled in my eyes as he softly kissed my forehead.  "My brilliant, beautiful girl."  He nuzzled my cheek.  "You know it isn't a punishment."

"I kn-kn-know."

"I love your breathy little moans.  Your desperate little whimpers.  That craven little whine from the back of your throat when I back you down from your climax... the wanton gratitude in the cry of my name when I finally let you come."  His lips grazed my skin with every word.  "Every little sound you make, Michelle... every little symphony we play together... I cherish them all."  I nodded, and he smoothed my hair back from my forehead.  "But we aren't alone in our lovely little world anymore."

"I know."

"Then know this, my love," he pressed a kiss to my temple before speaking huskily, directly into my ear.  "I can abide, when we must, without your sweet singing.  But I will not be denied this body that is mine, and I will not be interrupted when I take my pleasure from it."  I could feel his fingers tugging ever so gently at my choker to make his point.  "You will learn to be quiet, or you will learn to bear the gag.  Is that in any way unclear?"

I shook my head, darting my tongue out to wet my parched lips.  "No, Tom," I squeaked.  "I understand."

His hand on my face turned my head to his and he kissed me once more, teasing, sweet, a promise of rewards to come.  Yet, as soon as we parted, a warning: "You would look utterly delicious with this pretty mouth bound, Michelle.  Bear that in mind..."

I nodded once more and felt the mattress shift again.  I pictured him in my mind's eye, the movements that would mirror the sounds lilting to my ears: him shrugging off his jacket and tossing it aside, pulling the tails of his shirt free from the waist of his trousers as he slowly unbuttoned it.  I bit down on my lower lip as I envisioned the dusting of hair on his chest, the  toned muscles of his abs, the soft, inviting curls that descended below his navel, all peeking out from between the fine cotton lapels.  I imagined the grace and power rolling beneath the skin of his fingers and wrists as he rolled his cuffs back over the stark relief of veins and muscles in his forearms.  I swallowed hard, the clicking in my throat louder for the arid dryness of my mouth.

"Thirsty, little one?"  He asked in a velvety purr; I could hear the shift of the ice in the bucket as the bedside.  "Open, love..."  I obeyed, gasping a little as the first chilly drips pattered down on my lips; I stretched my tongue towards the source to catch the ones that followed.  "That's my good girl," he crooned, and he lowered the ice to trace my parted lips.  He chuckled softly as I sucked at the melting cube, pulling it back before I could draw it wholly into my mouth.  A moment of stillness, and I gasped again as one fat, cold drop splashed into the hollow of my throat.  "Shhh," he chided gently.  "No sounds..."

Nodding silently, I took a deep breath to steady myself.  I felt the tip of his nose nuzzle my cheek, and then the blunt edge of the ice began to trace along the line of my clavicle.  I bit my lips together, the air leaving my lungs in a soundless rush through my nose.  "Well done, my sweet," he praised before ducking his head, the heat of his tongue warming the skin he had teased.  My sigh of gratitude choked in my throat, however, when he dipped the ice down into my cleavage.  He shushed me again, mouthing hungrily at my shoulder as he circled my nipple through the lace of my basque, drawing it up to a hard, wet, frigid peak.  My teeth were beginning to chatter when he closed his lips around it, moving the ice to its twin.  My body arched helplessly beneath the polar sensations of heat and cold, my mind screaming, even as I forced my voice down.  Back and forth, from one to the other, the fire of his mouth, the chill of the ice, the bite of the lace against my skin as the flesh beneath his touch swelled, begging for mercy, begging for more.

"Very well done," he kissed the flesh above my heart before tucking the last sliver between my breasts to melt into a tiny puddle, icy rivulets that slipped lazily down my skin.  I could feel him stretching away from me a moment, and then his mouth was back at the column of my throat.  "May I, sweet?"  He paused, and I could hear the metallic _snick_ of the shears as he opened and closed them.

_Ohhh_ , the vixen pouted in my brain.  _This one is so pretty..._

_Hrmph_ , the dowager sniffed, unaffected.  _Make him buy you another..._

I couldn't help but curl my trembling lips into a smile.  "Whatever you want, Tom."

The flinch of my chest and belly away from the cool metal as it parted the basque from top to bottom, then snipped the shoulder straps above each breast, was only biological reflex; the _what if_ possibility of him breaking skin never even crossed my mind.  He tongued a warm swirl around my left nipple as I bowed off the bed to let him sweep the ruined lingerie away, and then I heard the clatter of the scissors being tossed back to the nightstand.  I drew anxious air in through parted lips as the contents of the ice bucket shifted with a rattle; once again, Tom gifted me with a cool sip as he used the heat of my mouth to encourage the thaw.  He painted my breasts with melting water once more, leaving them wet to welcome the nip of the cool evening air, and I whined a little as he continued down the center of my chest to the soft flesh of my stomach. 

"Ah, ah, ah, love," I could hear the playful glee in his voice as he tutted me quietly.  "You were doing so well."  He let the frigid cube rest at the center of my abdomen.  "Do I need to bind that wicked mouth already?" 

Biting my lips together, I shook my head frantically.  I loved his hand over my mouth, the intimacy of his skin carefully silencing my cries.  But the thought of a gag... even his tie...   "No, Tom, please," I whispered plaintively.  "I can do it."

"My good girl," the warmth and depth of his voice... God...it reached in and stroked at my core almost as firmly as his fingers, and I could feel the folds between my legs plumping in search of contact as the spreader did its job.  And then the ice was moving once more, guided by his fingers to the cup of my navel.  I gasped, choking off any sound, as he drew lazy circles, around and around, lapping the drops that filled the little divot with the tip of his tongue.  And then, rather abruptly, he stopped short, and I could feel him sit up a bit.  After a heartbeat of silence, his freezing fingertips stroked over my bare mound.  His voice was low, amused, the panther about to pounce. "Waxed?"

If I could have opened my eyes behind the blindfold, I'd have cast them to the heavens in silent payer.  I was busted, and we both knew it.  "No." I answered, barely a whisper.

His laugh was velvety soft, delighted.  "Sneaky little thief.  You at least didn't put it back in the cabinet, did you?"

I shook my head again.  "No, Sir."

"Oh, 'Sir' is it, again?"  He laughed once more.  "Love the deference, darling, but that is what one might call 'too little, too late'."  Another telltale rattle from the bed side bucket, and the mantra began in my head: _oh, shit... not there... oh, shit... not there..._    The anticipation actually made my word flutter to the tip of my tongue; it took every ounce of restraint to bite it back. 

He'd selected a large piece with a perfect smooth curve; my teeth clenched against my lips and the faint taste of copper tickled my tongue as he pressed it firmly to the apex of my pelvis before sliding it over the naked, fleshy rise.  "Oh God... Tom... please..."  Air without sound, plea without tone.  "Please... please... please..."

"Please what, my love?"  Spoken so close the heat from his breath warmed the goosebumps flocking across the surface of my skin.

"I'm s-s-sorry," I whispered, my breath hitching desperately in my chest as the ice dipped down, circling my clitoris, making it throb before delving lower, parting my lips.  "I'm so-rry... I'm s-sorry... Oh, God, I'm so s-s-so sorry..."

"Mmmm."  He kissed my belly just below my navel.  "I believe you."

Somehow, I wasn't comforted.  "Y-you do?"

"I do."  The cube crept down, nudging my folds apart, the melting water mingling with the juices of my arousal already dripping down to the comforter.  "Look at you..."  Back up, and I wanted to scream as he again swirled the edge around my clit.  "Taking your punishment like such a good girl."

"Wha... But... Tom..."

"Come now, my love," another kiss, and I sucked in air as the still ample chunk of ice began to press against the tightly drawn entrance of my cunt.  "We both know full well that you know exactly how to put a stop to all of this, should you reach your limit."  One more slow, lingering kiss.  "Do you have something to say to me, Michelle?"

_Fucking Christ..._

"Michelle?"  The ice continued to circle the tight ring of muscle.  "I asked you a question.  Do you have something to say to me?"

"N-n-no, Tom."

His sigh of satisfaction danced across my damp flesh.  "Good girl." 

With that, he pushed the smooth curve of the ice past the resistance of my body while closing his lips around the now frigid bud above.  "Oh, my God," I whimpered, helpless to stop myself, bucking sharply beneath him.  I wanted nothing more than to ride every sweet sensation from his mouth to a mind-blowing orgasm, but the freezing chill of the ice inside me as his finger slid it mercilessly against my g-spot kept me agonizingly rigid, taut, unable to give myself completely to the pleasure.  His wicked chuckle vibrated against me, assuring me he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Relax, darling," he whispered, flickering his tongue against me as he spoke.  "Trust me.  Trust your body.  Your warm, sweet body..."  He paused to suckle gently at my lips.  "The ice is getting smaller, and smaller..."  He nibbled tenderly at my clit as he probed deeper.  "Your cunt is getting hotter, and hotter..."  I writhed towards him, fighting unsuccessfully against the spreader, swallowing moan after desperate, hungry moan.  "In just a moment," he pulled back, leaving the indeed markedly smaller shaft of ice nestled between my walls.  "It will only be me inside you."  He pushed into me once more, two fingers this time.  "Stroking... thrusting..."  His actions followed his words, my head pressing back against the mattress as I bowed up in silent offering.  "Driving you to that point where you're certain you just..." Thrust and stroke.  "Can't..."  His lips brushing over me, barely more than a tease.  "Take anymore..."

The chill ebbed away at last, and there was only the strong, rhythmic push-pull of his fingers, the firm pulsations of his mouth over and around my clit.  And he was letting me learn, allowing me to join him in the dance with the roll of my hips and the clench of my thighs.  So deep... so slow... so good... _so close_...

The cry of release that I held in my throat disintegrated into a sob of agonized frustration as he pulled his hand away, his mouth leaving me wet and open and exposed.  "Shh, love," he soothed me, warm, tender kisses to my belly, his palm rubbing over my hip.  "Soft... steady... I've got you..."

"Oh, please, Tom... please..."  I whipped my head back and forth, trying in earnest to wriggle the blindfold away.  "More... please... I need more..."

"Eheheheh," I could feel the bed shift and roll as he moved to the bottom.  I gasped as he lifted my legs by the bar between them, draping me over his body before settling us back down together.  "Oh, love... you're going to get more... so much more..."

Over and over, he drilled the lesson home, his hands and fingers and lips and tongue edging me close, closer, my body all but tipping over into the abyss.  But no matter how well I did, no matter how many whimpers and mewls and cries I manage to tamp down into my chest, my voice always betrayed me when the sweet promise of climax just started to unfurl.  And as soon as he heard it, that first breath of even the tiniest wail, his mouth would still, his touch would withdraw, and I'd hover on the brink, panting, trembling, my fluids spilling onto the bed in desperate inviting plea as he held me, rocked, me soothed me back down.  

I lost count of the denials after five, I can only guess at how long he continued after that; it felt like hours.  Finally, with a soft sigh not quite disappointed, he detangled himself from the triangle of the bar and my body.  The bed dipped as he crawled up beside me, and I could feel my lip pouting out when I heard the slide of silk between his fingers.  "No... please, Tom... please..."

"Shhh, sweetheart," his kisses were warm and wonderful against my cheeks, my forehead; I shivered at the taste of myself when his lips met mine.  "It's all right... you've done so well..."

"No," I sulked childishly, irritated by the thought of that strip of silk cutting me off from him, disconnecting us, taking my voice away.  "Please, Tom."  I nuzzled towards him, feeling the sweat-dampened hair at his temple against my nose  "Please... let me try again."

"I don't know, Michelle," the doubt in his voice was blanketed in affectionate concern.  "You're coming up on it... we both know you are..."

"And if I hit it, I'll say it.  I promise."  I stretched once more, trying to press myself as closely to him as I could.  "Please, Tom.  Don't gag me.  Let me try... just one more time."

"Dear God," his hands caught my face... and his kisses, those deep, sweet, sweeping kisses.  "I love you so fucking much, little one."

"I love you, Tom," I smiled weakly.  "Please... let me show you... I can do it.  Make me come for you, and I'll prove it."

"Fucking hell..."  Muttered under his breath, and he was between my legs once more.  His mouth flitted up and down the insides of my thighs, kissing, nipping, leaving tiny little love bites scattered over the secret, sensitive skin.  Finally, I could feel his breath against my folds, feel them opening in famished welcome.  "Are you ready, love?"

I nodded, curling my fingers around the rope that held my arms in place.  "I am."

A heartbeat of silence, then the distinct click of a bottle snapping open sent a convulsion through my entire body.  "Are you certain?"

"Oh, God... yes..."

"All right."

Another beat, and then his fingers, pulling me open, spreading my swollen petals wide.  His tongue, strong and sure, stroking, savoring.  My body begged to surge beneath him; I gripped the rope in my hands and kept myself still.  His lips groped their way to the little pearl that by now was so engorged I could feel it quiver with every beat of my racing heart.  He caressed it with the flat of his tongue as his fingers pressed deep once more, stretched apart, bracketing my g-spot and rubbing alongside it without teasing it directly. 

On a hair trigger for what seemed like forever, the deepest nerves in my body coiled tight, angry, venomous.  The sensation tugged at me, demanding that I buck, writhe, roll... anything to bring about the explosion so long denied.  Again, I refused, shifting my focus to the hitching landscape beneath my chin.  I played Tom's words in my head, over and over, his warm, husky voice: "Trust me, love... I've got you... trust me..."

_Soft... still... quiet... so, so quiet..._

As I finally began to slip into the space I'd been seeking all night, I could hear him, faint, as if from a distance, excitement and pride and victory.  "There you are, Michelle... my girl... my sweet, beautiful girl... come for me, love... come for me now..."

And as his mouth claimed me once more, as his touch finally probed the spot that craved it the most, as his little finger slid gently into my other entrance as well, my entire being was engulfed in a shock of white hot light that surged from him and through me.  It lifted me, twisted me, turned me inside out and back again.  I embraced it, surrendered to it, rode wave after wave until it faded into pink and to gold and finally a soft swirling blue, the blue of the sky, the blue of the ocean, the blue of the eyes of the man that held my soul in his hands.

And I never made a sound.

The blindfold was gone.  My hands were free, my arms around his neck.  The bar was gone as well, one leg resting on the bed, the other thigh drawn up over his hip.  One strong hand held that knee in place,  the fingers of the other were curled gently around my collar at the back of my neck.   His lids were heavy with lust but his eyes were clear, proud, even if his jaw ticked ever so slightly with impatient need as he waited for me.  His smile was perfection as he watched me return from the haze.  "Are you ready for me, love?"

I nodded, stroking my fingers through his hair.  "Give me your cock, Tom... please..."

His gaze never wavered as he slid slowly home, filling me, stretching me, making me burn and ache and yearn for more...

"Deeper... harder, oh, harder... _please_..."

"Oh, fuck...Michelle..."

"Yes, Tom... oh, God.  Just like that... please don't stop..."

"Never, my love.  Never... oh... fucking _Christ_..."

Each throaty growl, each breathy plea, all punctuated by the wet surge and collide and withdraw and surge again.  His thumb caught my choker as the rest of his fingers tangled in my hair, and he was pulling my head back, mouthing along the length of the chain, sucking at his spot beneath my ear, biting at my earlobe.  His hand on my leg pushed restlessly; I followed the cue and wound both around his waist, hooking them at the ankle.  Now free, he slid his palm to the small of my back, pressing me up so that he could grind into me at a wholly new angle.  My eyes flew wide at the sensation, and every muscle clenched around him.

"Oh, fuck, _yes_!"  Adrenaline and lust and joy and triumph all blended into that one hissing syllable.  "There you are... _there you are_... oh, fuck, Michelle, I'm going to come..."

"Yes, Tom," I begged him breathlessly, knowing his release would drag me headlong over the cliff with him.  "Yes... Tom... please..."

His words bled into shapeless, animalistic grunts and groans as his body wound tighter, and tighter.  And then, locked in a perfect taut arc of ecstasy, his head thrown back on his neck as his pelvis ground mercilessly into mine, he spilled into me, thrust after thrust of hot and wet and sticky sweet. His crown pressed against my cervix, the agonizing twinge setting off my own explosion.  Endless seconds of pulse after pulse, throb after throb, and then the slow melt as the iron grip relaxed.  He drifted into my arms, surrendering slowly, milking every last twitch and tingle, until as last his eyes closed, his cheek to my breast, his breath hot against my skin from his slack, smiling lips.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: Waaaaay NSFW. They are who they are, folks, and they love the way they love. Please take note: Trigger warnings for D/s practices, including restraints, collar talk/practice, dirty talk (really dirty talk), rough sex, Dub Con role play

The unusually golden light of the London morning was just beginning to peek through the drapes when I blinked my eyes open, yawning hugely but silently.  I was curled on my side, one hand tucked beneath the pillow under my head.  The other rested at my throat, the tips of my fingers curled lightly around my new choker.  _My new collar_ , I corrected myself.  Tom's words echoed through my head... _my touch... always at your throat... never letting go..._ I smiled secretly, twisting the chain at the front and shivering as I felt the ripple effect tickle its way around my neck. 

The luxurious linens of the hotel bed felt like gossamer against my skin, and I rolled shamelessly beneath them, enjoying every twinge and ache that the previous night's escapades had left in my muscles and joints.  My arm left my neck to reach for Tom, only to find an abandoned pillow, and I sat up, furrowing my brow.  I was about to call his name when his voice drifted through the door that closed the sleeping room off from the rest of the suite.  Soft and soothing, and yet I couldn't make out what he was saying.  Dragging the sheet from the bed as a makeshift toga, I tiptoed across the floor to turn the knob silently in my hand.

I heard it before I saw them, the tiny giggle that made my heart leap and my stomach twist, and I had to press my arms to my chest to quell the sudden, throbbing ache.

Tom sat sideways on the lounge room sofa, his back against one arm, his knees bent, his bare feet planted on one overstuffed cushion.  Jack was on his stomach, his back resting against Tom's thighs.  Tom held the baby's hands in each of his, Jack's plump little fingers wrapped tight around each of his father's thumbs.  "Who's my big boy?" Tom cooed at the infant, his cheeks flushed with pride and happiness as the baby stared and smiled and gurgled in response.  "Oh, Jack-Jack, I missed you so much..."

"Where did he come from?"  I crooned, crossing to kneel beside them, kissing the top of my son's head before offering my mouth to my husband.

"Good morning, my beauty," he murmured huskily before accepting, letting me taste the coffee he'd been sipping on his tongue.  "You don't mind, do you?"  His brow was lightly furrowed, his lips twisting in a slightly nervous bow.  "I asked Em if she'd mind bringing him in.  You were sleeping so soundly... you looked so lovely, so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you.  But I really, really missed him, and..."

I leaned over, using another kiss to stop the flow of his words.  "Of course I don't mind," I  nuzzled the tip of my nose gently against his.  "I think he really missed you."  We both turned our gaze to the baby, who met our eyes with a wiggle and a squeal of delight.  Chuckling, Tom lifted the boy to his chest, where Jack promptly burrowed into him, sucking noisily on his fist and drooling happily on his father's white t-shirt.  The sound went straight to my chest, soaking the sheet I held around me. "Please tell me she brought the pump with the diaper bag," I groaned.

"Oh, sweetheart," Tom suppressed a chuckle of amusement, sitting up to make room for me and handing the baby over.  He waited for us to settle in, then lay his head in my lap, grinning up at me as he nuzzled into Jack's curls.

Once I was empty and my son was full, I wriggled out from under my two boys and headed for the shower.  Standing at the sink, wrapped in a towel, I was just starting to wonder exactly what I was going to wear to get out of the lobby when Tom called out to me.  "Darling?  I've left your bag on the dresser..."

Smiling, I combed my fingers through my wet hair, walking out to where he was changing Jack's diaper on the bed.  "I have a bag?"

He glanced over at me with a smirk.  "Well, I thought about making you slink out to the car in just your dress with nothing underneath.  But then I figured, if I was having Em bring the car and the carseat and the boy, I might as well have her bring whatever you'd need for us to spend the day in the city."  The sparkle in his eye was beautifully childlike.  "I mean, we can head home if you like.  But, it's quite sunny out for a change, not too brutally cold.  So I thought, I don't know...  Hyde Park?  Harrod's?  This boy could meet Santa for the very first time..."  He tucked Jack's kicking feet back into the legs of his sleeper.  "What do you think, love?"

I hummed low in my throat.  "I think you changing that diaper is one of the hottest things I've ever seen..."

Outings in London with Tom have always been hit or miss.  There are days we can walk down the city streets together, hand in hand, and not a single soul pays us any mind.  Other times, it seems we can't walk ten feet without someone, photog or fan, calling his name, asking for a smile, a signature, or a selfie.  While I obviously far prefer the former, I've learned to endure, and even occasionally enjoy the latter.  That said, it's never been difficult for me to become frustrated with Tom's management of his public persona - so warm, so welcoming, so willing to indulge even requests that, to my mind, go above and beyond simple professional grace.  It is difficult, however, to stay angry with him, when the energy of such encounters leaves him so open and excited and positively thrumming with life.

But that day?  That day was wholly different.

I first noticed the subtle change before heading to the elevator to make the descent in silence with the valet who had come to the room to help us load our luggage.  I'd been moving to tuck Jack into his carseat for the ride downstairs when Tom stopped me with a gentle hand at my elbow.  "No, darling... carry him, please.  Or I can, if you like..."

"No, I can," I looked up at him with a slightly confused smile.  "I don't mind."

"Thank you, love."  He gently kissed my lips as I lifted my well-fleeced bundle into my arms.

Now as I stood watching the numbers illuminate as we sank to the lobby, my half-dozing little one curled against my chest, I could feel the possessive protection positively radiating from Tom's broad posture.  His arm was around me, low, one hand curled over my hip.  His chest was against my back and his chin brushed my temple from time to time as he looked down at me, at Jack, and smiled with such fierce pride I thought I would melt through the floor.

There was a stocky, sharply dressed but stern-looking man waiting for us when the elevator doors opened; he greeted me with a small bow and a proper nod.  "Good morning, Mrs. Hiddleston.  Your car is waiting, if you and the tot would like to come with me..."

_This is new._   I glanced up at Tom, who nodded at me as well, brushing a soft kiss to my forehead.  "Tuck the boy in, love, I'll only be a moment."  With that, he crossed the lobby towards the front desk in long, purposeful strides. 

The Forester was indeed warm and idling at the curb, flanked by another well-dressed security officer, and I couldn't help but giggle as I watched the two heavies collapse the stroller and strap the carseat snugly into place before holding the door open for me to slide inside.  Jack yawned and stretched as I tucked him in and buckled the straps into place, and I stroked a fingertip over one rosy cheek.  A few moments later, Tom arrived to fold himself behind the wheel.  "All right, my loves," he grinned over his shoulder, "shall we off?"

They say Christmastime is its most magical when seen through the eyes of a child.  On that lovely afternoon, my son was too little to really comprehend what was going on around him.  The real beauty of that day that lives in my memory… it’s all Tom.  The delighted flush in his smiling cheeks as Jack reached for the velvety nose of the reindeer in Hyde Park.  The shining embers that danced in his eyes as Jack's widened and blinked in wonder and amazement at the colorful lights that sparkled around us.  The way he near constantly and absently nuzzled and kissed the blonde curls that tickled at his chin from the top of the baby carrier strapped to his chest. The barrier of warmth and protection he put between us and the rest of the world, holding me close against his side with an arm around my shoulders.

We were tucked close, side by side, into an intimate corner table at Brown’s for afternoon tea when Jack began to squirm and fuss, gnawing on his fingers and furrowing his brow at Tom’s amused cooing.  I uncapped a bottle and handed it to him, then covered my laughing mouth with my hand as I watched him try to convince the infant to take it.  It was comical, watching his little mouth root and latch, only to twist away a heartbeat later, his tiny face screwed into a flushed visage of impatient fury.  I was already pulling my wrap from the diaper bag when Tom finally gave up.  “I tried, my love,” he sighed as I situated myself for privacy.  “He wants you.”  He set the bottle aside, then lifted the baby to kiss the tip of his nose.  “I don’t blame you, Sprout,” he chuckled, winking at me.  “Daddy likes putting his mouth on Mummy better, too.”  I flushed, as much from pleasure as self-consciousness, taking the baby from him and tucking him discreetly against my body.  It took a moment to assist him in his frantic search for purchase; Tom grinned warmly, wrapping an arm around me when my posture finally relaxed.

I was switching sides when they approached, so Tom saw them first.  Four of them, early twenties, all bright eyes and lilting giggles.  Nothing too intrusive, certainly nothing wildly inappropriate, and I shifted in my chair, preparing to melt into the wallpaper as best I could.  So it was a genuine surprise when Tom met their glances with a small stern smile and a brief wave of his hand.  "I'm so, so sorry, ladies," his voice was gentle but firm.  "I'm off duty today, please."  Their disappointment was palpable, and I waited for him to buckle under the weight of their suddenly downturned mouths.  "I'll tweet the next time I'll be out and about for work, I promise you that.  But today is for my family... so sorry."

"Oh, sorry..."

"Oh, we didn't mean..."

"But... are you sure..?"

I was about to lean close and whisper to him that it was all right, that I didn't mind, and that Jack certainly wasn't batting a lash at their presence.  He must have sensed it, because the hand that had been resting on my shoulder trailed almost absently to the back of my neck.  A heartbeat later, I felt a soft tug at the chain around my throat, the placid gesture full of unspoken command: _shush_.  "I'm quite sure, thank you.  Have a lovely day and a beautiful Christmas."  He watched their subdued, shuffling departure without regret, then laughed out loud when he turned his face to mine once more.  "That's... quite the look, darling.  Care to tell me what it's all about?"

My tongue was glued to the roof of my now parched and slightly agape mouth.  "I..." I stammered a bit.  I didn't know what had turned me on more, the fact that he had sent them off, or his quick little hitch to my collar to stop me from interfering.  But now that both were done, all I wanted to was drop to my knees below the table, take his cock in my mouth, and lavish my gratitude over every thick, glorious inch of him.  I never managed to put such sentiment into words, but I'm certain that he read every thought in my head through the expression on my face, the stutter of my breath in my chest, the subconscious and automatic shift my body made towards his as he toyed lightly with my choker once more.  "You... just... surprised me," I finally managed to squeak before his lips tasted mine in a deceptively tender kiss.

"Good," he murmured softly into my mouth.

Those weren't the only demurrals he made that afternoon.  There were a few more speechless admirers that he shrugged politely off as we walked the magic aisles of Harrod's,  even a small three person news crew broadcasting from in front of one of the majestic outdoor Christmas trees.  Each and every refusal drove deeper and deeper into my heart, not just because he was making them, but because it seemed so easy for him, so effortless, so completely free of reservation or guilt or regret. He'd never felt more.... _my_ Tom.

We lingered in the city until after the sun had set, taking the time to drink in holiday London in all her glory.  We used all the film we had for the Nikon, filled our phones with picture after picture.  We stopped at a small cafe just over the bridge for a quick dinner that Jack snoozed through; by the time we pulled into our garage, our little man was wet, hungry, and cranky.  I filled his plastic tub with warm, soapy water while Tom fetched a clean sleeper and warmed a bottle.  As my men tucked into the corner of the sofa, I set about addressing the laundry that had begun to pile up by the washer, eventually settling down beside them to fold blankets and onesies and terrycloth pajamas. Tom plugged the bottle into Jack's rooting mouth before regaling us both with the most elaborate and comically enhanced telling of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" I'd ever heard, in which Dr. Seuss' green n'er-do-well sounded a lot more like a certain God of Mischief and his trusty, if dimwitted, dog-cum-reindeer bore a striking resemblance to the God of Thunder.  No sooner was the bottle finished when Jack was as well, and Tom cradled his little head for me to kiss goodnight before taking him upstairs to the bassinet in our bedroom.

Once again, I was not far behind him, heading into the empty nursery to put Jack's things away.  I couldn't believe he had already outgrown a handful of the clothes we had, and barefoot, I had to rise on my tiptoes and raise my arms to tuck the too-small items onto the corner of the top shelf in the closet.

I'd barely had time to register that he had entered the room before his arms were around me, crushing me against the chiseled planes of his body.  His mouth was hot and hungry in the hollow beneath my ear, and I shuddered reflexively as his teeth worried the tender skin.  "Tom," I gasped with the little air he'd left in my lungs.  "What on Earth..?"

His head snapped up, one strong hand gripping the back of my head to lock his fiery gaze with mine.  " _Now_ , Michelle," a throaty growl full of urgency and command.  "You can give, or I can take.  But make no mistake, little one.  I will have you.  Here.  _Now_."

Hovering there in his embrace, feeling the power of his body (the only thing keeping me from falling to the floor as my own body sagged in conditioned compliance), feeling the absolute _must have you_ vibrating off of him in wave after wave of sensual demand, feeling his authority, his undeniability, and the promise of pain-dusted pleasure to be meted out by the one hand in the world I knew would never fail to keep me safe, I knew exactly what I wanted. 

My lips curled in a wicked little smirk. 

"Tom... sweetie... we're in the baby's room... and I really don't think we have time for this..."

His reaction was immediate, exquisitely straightforward, and I whimpered softly as it sent all the moisture from every cell of my being to pool obscenely between my thighs.  His eyes swirled dark, the quirk in the bow of his lips promising me that, if I wanted to play... oh, yes... he'd play.  His hand moved with fluid grace, catching my ponytail and winding it slowly, gracefully around his fist.  He lowered his face to mine as he pulled my head back, careful, calculating.  I could taste his breath on my tongue, his lips tickling against mine as he spoke.  "Michelle... love... don't think."

A sigh of utter lust-filled longing rose from my throat to fill the air, and his brow lifted in satisfied triumph.  I closed my eyes and offered my mouth in surrender... only to snap the first open and the second closed when he spun me roughly in his arms.  His jaw pressed against my cheek, the shadow of his whiskers scraping fire into my skin as he spoke.  "Let's play a game, little bird."  He ghosted a kiss to my temple.  "Could you get away from me... if you tried?"

_Oh, God, no... oh, dear God... yes..._

He felt the shudder of excitement pass from my crown to my toes, and his velvety chuckle filled my head.  "Not sure if I should take that as a yes or a no."  Another kiss, punctuated by the roll of his hips against my ass.  "Try, little one.  If you succeed, the choice is yours.  I'll make you come... over and over... wherever you like... however you like... for as long as you like.  Otherwise," another sinfully confident laugh.  " _I_ get to come... wherever _I_ want... however _I_ like... for as long as I like... before you come at all."

_Don't play this game, Michelle..._

"What do you say, love?"

_You will not win..._

I tilted my head up to his, offering him my best good-little-girl smile before brushing a soft, sweet kiss to his mouth.  And just as he started to melt into me, I lunged.

Of course, I didn't get far, not even an arm's length before his hand in my hair pulled me easily back.  "Naughty little tease," he nipped lightly at my earlobe.  "If you thought it was going to be that easy, love, you'd best remember your word."  His timbre dropped, his voice rumbling through his chest against my back.  "Because I will not stop for anything else."  He let the arm around my waist drift up, his hand cupping and squeezing my breast.  "Is that understood?"

I nodded breathlessly before trying to dart away once more; again, it was almost pathetic the little effort it took him to drag me back.  "Not good enough, little one..."

"Iris," I snapped impatiently.  "My word is iris."

My tone, in any other circumstance, would have earned me a spanking at best, a gag for the evening if his buttons felt well and truly pushed.  Thankfully, his predatory playfulness remained intact; he only tutted me, calm, patient, infuriating.  "My precious little slut," he cooed softly, catching my collar with his teeth and tugging firmly.  "Realizing that wicked little mouth may have bitten off more than you can chew, eh?"

I had to hand it to him; he knew exactly how to taunt me.

It wasn't much of a struggle at first, not really.  No matter how much I bucked or writhed or twisted, all it ever took to bring me back was the stretch and flex of his arms.  At one point, he even yawned, lifting me off the floor while I snarled and hissed and kicked at his legs.  Finally, with a groan of frustration, I dropped to my knees.  He wasn't prepared for that; an impressed grunt of "clever girl" fell from his lips as my hair slipped from his grasp, and for a moment it looked like I might actually have a chance.  Clawing at the carpet, I began to drag myself commando-style towards the door, tossing a scoff over my shoulder.

My bravado evaporated when his warm, strong fingers wrapped around my ankles, pinning them down as he crawled over me.  "Mmmm," he hummed, his hands sliding up under my skirt.  "Maybe not as clever as you thought?"  I tried to twist away, but that only backfired, allowing him to flip me over and pin me to the floor, his hips pressing down between my legs.  "You can call it anytime, sweet..."

"NO!"  I could feel the stubborn jut of my chin as I tried to wriggle out from under him.

His eyes glazed just a bit, his grin splitting his devilishly handsome face.  "Ooooh, you could keep doing that... I could come right here, for starters."  I blanched as I realized I was essentially dry-humping him through his trousers, and the revelation made me acutely aware of the now screaming ache between my own thighs.  He caught my fleeting eyeroll and laughed, leaning over to nuzzle my cheek as if all we'd been doing was cuddling.  "There's my horny little minx..."

"No..."  I twisted beneath him, reaching for something, anything to pull myself along. 

He didn't even mind my scrabbling hands, simply slid his own along the skin bared by my rucked-up blouse.  "Oh, yes," he purred.  "Come on, Michelle... you think I can't feel how wet your sweet pussy is?"

"No..!"  I flexed the muscles of my legs, arching away from him.

"Oh, but love... I can..."

"Tom," I scowled at him, trying to drag myself back on my elbows.  "Stop it."

"Just throw in the towel, love..."

"No!"  Another desperate drag of my arms, coming up empty.

"The longer you fight..."

"STOP IT!"  I bit my lip to hold back my own giggle.

"The longer you'll wait..."

"TOM!"

He paused for a moment of arrogant preening, and I pounced on the opportunity.  Planting my feet against his hips, I pushed with all my strength.  His eyes flew wide in shocked amusement, but I didn't waste time drinking it in; I rolled to all fours in a desperate attempt to scurry away.  I wasn't even out from under his shadow when his arms caught me, vicelike, around my waist.  "Oh, no you don't," he growled into my neck as I grasped and tugged at his hands.  "All mine..."  I shivered at the heat of his breath, felt his smile graze my skin.  "See?  Your body knows it..."

"Cocky fucker," I grumbled, wriggling harder, with renewed determination.

"Oh, that I am, little minx," he chuckled, sliding his hands up to cup both my breasts, pressing his full length against mine.  "Very cocky," he rolled his hips against my ass, letting me feel exactly what he meant. 

_Oh, God... that feels good..._   I wrenched away from him, twisting and pushing at his chest with my forearms.  "Stop..."

"You want my cock, don't you, little one?"

"No!"  I arched my back, trying in vain to put even an inch of space between us.

 He fisted up my ponytail once more, hard, yet still careful enough to grab above the elastic.  Pulling me back against him, he exhaled slowly into my ear as his fingers traced my lips.  "You want my cock in this wicked little mouth..."  I shook my head, careful to resist the urge to suck the long, powerful digits in against my tongue.  "Oh, yes, you do.  Naughty little liar."  His palm covered my mouth, tender, careful, and I couldn't help but breathe a moan through my nose.  "You're craving it right now... the taste of my skin... the way I drip onto your tongue... that delicious discomfort in your jaw as I push deeper and deeper..."

_Not fair... not fucking fair..._

I twisted free from his grip with a gasp, but realized quickly it was no victory.  He'd simply lost interest and was moving on, down to the vee of my neckline.  "Perhaps you want it between these beautiful breasts... so hot and hard... straining for your tongue with every thrust..."

_Move your ass, girl... or this is how he wins..._

His hand moved like lightening.  "I know you want it in this tight little cunt," he growled, dragging up my skirt and dispatching my panties with one efficient twist of his wrist.  "Look at these... soaked through.  Your soft little folds are just dripping for me, aren't they, so slick and slippery wet.  Even as you try to get away, you're looking for some relief.  Grinding against me like a wanton little whore... pressing your legs together like a shy little virgin...  Jesus Christ, Michelle, you drive me fucking wild..."  I felt his body shudder under the weight of his own need, and I whimpered in dismay.  One last, strong buck against him did little more than stroke his erection in the cleft of my ass, and he yanked my head to the side.  His mouth beneath my ear... his teeth scraping my skin...

_This is going to be a very long night..._

My muscles were quivering with fatigue, my breath coming in quick, hitching huffs when I finally closed my eyes and went limp against him.  "Ohhh, yes," he crooned against the corner of my jaw, his grip relaxing slowly.  "There you are, my sweet little bird."  I slumped wearily to my hands and knees, moaning softly as his hands pushed my skirt up over my waist, baring every inch of my body below to his gaze.  "How well I know you, my love," I could hear the metallic clink of his belt buckle under the huskiness of his words.  "That you'd end up just like this.  On all fours, so ready for my cock..." The soft, buzzing hum of his zipper.  "My dirty little slut in heat..."

The filthy endearment wrapped itself around the base of my brain, making me smile, giving me one last burst of playful defiance.  When the soft whisper of linen signaled both of his hands were occupied with the removal of his pants, I pushed myself up for one last lunge for the door. 

I knew I was in the best kind of trouble when he merely laughed.  "Naughty girl..."

The next thing I knew his hands were gripping my hips and dragging me back, and I bit back a scream as he slammed home inside me.  "That's right, love," he pumped his body against me, brutal, beautiful, clusters of stars exploding across my field of vision.  "You bind up that wicked little mouth of yours or I'll bind it for you."  Whimpering softly, I bit down on my forearm as he thrust, over and over.  "Fucking Christ, Michelle, " he grunted softly.  "So tight and slick... maybe I should take you like this more often..."

_Oh, God... yes, please..._

My insides clenched around him and he groaned in wolfish delight.  "Mmm, yes, you would like that, wouldn't you?  My sweet little sub of a wife, reduced to my favorite little plaything."  He leaned over, pressing his chest against my back, the buttons of his shirt scratching along my spine.  "My tight, wet little toy... your  dripping cunt gripping my cock... taking it deep... so deep... so hard..."  I moaned quietly, and his hand in my hair pulled my ear to his mouth.  "Don't you fucking dare, Michelle."  I tried to nod, but even that small movement seemed to pull from the space he occupied, and I clenched my teeth against the urge to fall apart around him.  As if reading my mind, he turned my head on my neck so he could see my face.  "Tell me, Michelle."

"I w-won't, T-Tom..."

He thrust again.  Hard.  "Won't what?"

I swallowed audibly, trying with everything I had to give him the focus he wanted.  "I-I won't come, Tom," I promised.  "Not until you say."

"Oh, fucking Hell..."  I could have sobbed with delight when I realized my compliance was pushing him over his first hurdle; his fingers curled around my collar as he pumped his release into me, hot and wet and sticky sweet.  It took every ounce of restraint I possessed to hold off my own orgasm; I was shuddering violently when he withdrew, still hard, only to thrust two fingers into me for a few languid strokes.  They were dripping when he lifted them to my mouth, and I closed my eyes as he traced my lips with a tenderness the exact opposite of his earlier effort.  "Taste us, darling..."  He trailed lazy, open mouth kisses over my cheek as I drew him into my mouth, licking and sucking until his skin was clean and my palate delightfully stained with our essence.  "Good girl," he praised, turning my body beneath his.  "More?"

I knew better than to reach for him; I tucked my hands behind my back as his fingers slid into my hair.  "Open, little one..."  I obeyed, keeping my eyes firmly locked with his as he traced his still leaking tip across my bottom lip.  "Such a lovely canvas to paint upon."  He spent long moments teasing me, slipping just into my mouth, only to pull back when I tickled at his head with the tip of my tongue.  I was vibrating with frustrated desire when he finally let me take him wholly in, my hum of gratitude sending a jolt of pleasure through him.  "Such talent," he murmured, stroking his fingers over my brow, down my hollowed cheeks, along my straining jaw.  "My brilliant little bird... I could fuck this sweet throat of yours for hours..."  I whimpered my approval around him once more, nodding up at his grin of delight.

He took his time, enjoying every lick and suck, every shiver and shake.  Finally, he pulled his length free, stroking it firmly in his fist as his hand at the back of my head guided my mouth lower.  I opened eagerly, groping at his sac with my lips, drawing first on one teste, then the other.  He cursed softly through gritted teeth, his head falling back on his neck, his hand on his cock gripping just a bit tighter.  "Suck, sweetheart," the words soft, but full of undeniable command.  But as my tongue stroked lower and lower, an idea came to mind... 

_He never said where..._

Smiling to myself, I lowered my mouth to the magic spot at his perineum I'd learned to work with my fingertips.  His gasp as I wet it with my tongue was musical, his helpless bark when I sealed my lips around it and suckled firmly sent goosebumps flocking across my skin.  "Oh, fuck... Michelle.. how did...  oh, _fuck_..!"

I wanted so badly to take his velvety length in my hand, to grasp him and rub from base to tip, to tease my thumb against the sensitive spot just below his crown, to swirl my fingers around his weeping head until he was fucking himself into my touch.  But I knew my new little trick, pleasurable or not, may already have put me on thin ice.  So I braided my fingers together, white knuckled as his own hand authored his release, his grip in my hair pulling my mouth to catch every drop.  Only then did he lean back, his body a perfect, well-muscled arc straddling me, his chest working like a bellows as he recovered.

"Ohhh, you," he growled when he finally looked down at me once more.  "You think you're sooo clever..."

The light in his eyes swirled deliciously dark, and I licked my lips to combat their sudden dryness.  "I'm sorry?" I managed to squeak as he bore down upon me, smirking. 

"No, you're not..."

With that, he grabbed the lapels of my shirt; buttons pattered silently to the carpet as he wrenched it open.  He dragged the sleeves to my wrists before twisting the soft fabric into a weak restraint, meant more to remind than to bind.  My bra met a similar fate a moment later ( _Goddammit, Tom...do you have any idea how hard it is to find SEXY nursing lingerie???)_ , and then he was tearing off his own shirt so he could crush the heat of my flushed skin to his.  His mouth ravaged mine, his kisses teeth and tongue and pure possession as his hands gripped my hair to move me to his liking.

I was breathless when he finally moved his efforts lower, biting at my ear, my neck, my shoulder.  I gave a strangled, self-conscious moan as he cupped my breasts firmly, but he ignored me, swiping his tongue over my nipples until my head was thrown back in delight. "God... the way you taste..."  I drew my loosely bound arms down so my blouse could hide my face, but he pushed them back above my head without a word.  He spent long moments reminding what he could make me feel before venturing lower still.  Catching my knees, he pushed them up and back until I was open, exposed to him completely.

I expected teasing; long, drawn out torture.  So when he closed his lips around my swollen and neglected clit and began to suck straightaway, my body bowed in an arch so taut, the top of my head pressed into the carpet.  Grunting in satisfied determination, he plunged two fingers into me, deep, hard.  "Tom," I managed to squeak out of my locked throat.

"If the next word out of your mouth isn't _your_ word, Michelle," he grinned.  "I suggest you shut the fuck up."

I barely had time to register what he meant before he was singularly focused once again, lips and tongue and teeth and hungry probing fingers.  Rhythmic assault, unending, unmerciful, and I was crying out silently, sobs without sound, coming over and over and over as he played my body as if it was his own.

Because, of course, it is.  His from the moment he first claimed me.

And just when I thought my punishment of pleasure was complete, when his mouth released me and his fingers slid from me, just as I relaxed my posture and tried to steady my breathing, he wrapped my legs around his waist, impossibly hard one more, and drove me to the edge again. Somewhere between his control and my surrender, in the space where he holds me close as I dance with abandon out into the ether, brutal fucking melted into sweet, soulful lovemaking.  And when I shuddered my way through my final exquisite little death, his eyes were gazing into mine, his thumbs wiping away my tears of gratitude, his voice... our call and response... singing me home.

"Tell me, Michelle..."

"I'm yours, Tom.  Always yours."


	19. Chapter 19

"Michelle, love, so sorry to disturb, but did you say Squeaker was in the diaper bag?  Because I've looked twice and I can't find him..."

Gently pushing aside the stylist who was sweeping my hair up off my neck, I turned to the woman holding Jack on her hip.  He was flushed and grumpy looking, scowling out at the room from where he'd curled against her.  "You know, Tom may have tucked him into the carseat with him."  I moved to push myself up from my seat, only to have the stylist push me back down and the nurse wave me off.

"No, no... I can go look.  You sit."

"Look for what?" 

As soon as Tom appeared in the doorway, Jack arched away from the sitter, breaking into a full-fledged bawl and reaching for his father with grasping hands.  "Hey, hey, Sprout," he soothed, taking the baby from her arms and tucking him into his own.  "Steady on, it's all right."

"Oh, Mr. Hiddleston, I'm so sorry," the sitter rushed to place a cloth over his shoulder.  "William Jonathon, you be good," she scolded sweetly.  "Don't send Daddy to the gala with spit up on his tuxedo."

"Oh, there are worse things in the world than a little spit on a tux jacket," Tom grinned.  "And Eleni, please... call me Tom."

The woman flushed to the roots of her hair, then rubbed a brisk hand over Jack's back.  "Now, where is that pesky penguin of yours, eh?"  She scuttled away.

"Oh, no, Squeaker gone missing?" Tom chuckled, kissing Jack's forehead as he swayed him gently from side to side.  "He's not feverish anymore."  There was marked relief in his voice.  "That's a full day now."  I smiled at him through the mirror, my heart fluttering at the sight. 

The bug had come on fast a few days earlier, no doubt blown in by February's last gasp of winter. Worrying that a lingering illness would be too hard on me and Jack with him preparing to travel to his next filming location in Croatia, and over my less than half-hearted protests, Tom had cleared his schedule for the week.  We'd taken turns walking the floor with our weepy, drippy little bundle, usually while the other tried to eke out a few hours sleep on the sofa or in the recliner. 

We'd been just about to cancel our plans for this evening as well when the fever finally broke and allowed our weary little boy to slip into a restful slumber.  We hadn't wasted any time, throwing anything we could think of that we might need into the back of the Forester before racing to Diana's house.  She'd fussed and fawned over Jack's bassinet while we stumbled blearily upstairs to collapse into the bed in the guest room, sleeping fully dressed above the covers. It had been Diana’s idea to call the pediatrician’s office for Eleni’s private number; the nurse was already downstairs changing Jack’s diaper when I emerged looking to feed him.

Now, seated in front of the same vanity I'd used to prepare to become his wife, I was being primped and primed for our first red carpet event in over a year.  The Marvel Anniversary gala would be kicking off in just a few hours at Gibson Hall, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Tom so excited for a professional outing.  Every major player in the brand was confirmed to attend, many of them people he hadn’t seen in forever, and I knew he was just itching to watch them scroll through what seemed like hundreds of pictures of our boy in his phone.

Now, as the stylist secured the last of my curls in place with shining onyx clips, we smiled at each other through our reflections.  “Look at Mummy, Jack,” he breathed softly into the infant’s curls as little fingers curled at the knot in his tie.  “Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

I narrowed my eyes at him sweetly.  "You're still not getting a look under the robe… or at the dress."

Tom immediately screwed his expression into a pout that twinned the baby's.  "Jack, tell Mummy it's not nice to keep secrets from Daddy."  As if he resented being told what to do, the infant whined sleepily and burrowed into Tom’s chest.  “Aw, Sprout,” Tom cuddled him close.  “Darling, I’m going to go put him down.”

“Okay,” I rose from my chair to kiss the crown of the baby’s head.  “Go ahead and give him one more dose of the Tylenol with his bottle, for good measure."  I peeked around the little shoulders at Jack's glassy, drooping eyes, and smiled when the hand clutching Tom's tie let go and reached for me.  I made growling noises as I pretended to munch on his fingers and he giggled as Tom brushed  a kiss to my forehead.  Another pat on his rump and they were leaving, and I turned to the stylist with a nervous grin.  “Okay Quinn... moment of truth…”

From the moment I’d heard about Marvel’s plans for an enormous blow-out, I’d had a vision in my head.  It had taken two months and a dozen clandestine trips to Jenny Packham’s studio to turn that vision into the reality that now hung sealed inside the black garment bag behind me.  Halter topped with a deep V-neckline, backless, the ankle length skirt made of panels of breezy silk and satin.  But the kicker was in the color.  For once, I was leaving aside my beloved purple to instead go head to toe in black, gold and green.  There would be no way to mistake who I belonged to; I would be Loki’s lady, all the way.

Jenny did not disappoint.  Ten minutes later, I was smoothing my hands down the front of the gown as Quinn secured the hooks at the small of my back.  We both stood straight a moment, looking my reflection over critically from top to bottom.  Finally, after exhaling a small whistle through her teeth, the young woman slipped my floor length coat from its hanger.  "You certain you want to cover this up?"  She asked wryly.  "He'll be panting after you like a doggy after his dinner..."

I flushed a bit and nodded.  "He can wait a little longer."

Standing at the foot of the stairs, Tom's expression quickly told me he disagreed.  "What's all this?"  He gestured to the dark wool buttoned to my chin.

"What?" I blinked innocently.  "It's still pretty cold out there..."  I breezed past him with a grin to peek into the bassinet at our sleeping son.  "Handsome boy," I stroked his hair, glancing up at his proud grandmother.  "You're sure you're okay overnight?" I asked softly.  "Because it's no trouble for us to come back here after..."

"Sweet, silly girl," Diana reached over to straighten the dangle of my earring.  "We are going to be just fine.  It may have been a few years, but I did do this a few times myself.  Eleni will be just down the hall, and you know I'll call if we need anything."  She smiled at me with so much love and pride in her eyes I had to remind myself that, even though she was only four foot eleven, Quinn would snap me like a twig if I tarnished her artistry with tears this early in the evening.  Tom stepped close to kiss his mother on the cheek, then leaned into the bassinet to do the same to our boy.  I took my kiss in turn and then, with Tom's arm in mine, we headed out the door to the waiting limo.

His hands were everywhere once we settled into the back and I giggled, scooting to the far corner of the seat and clutching my coat tight around me.  "No no no..."  I waggled a finger at him.  "I've come this far - there's no WAY I'm about to spoil it now."

He sat back, his expression a mixture of surprise and admiration, with just a soupçon of irritation.  "You do know," he sniffed.  "Everything beneath that coat belongs to me."

My fingers fluttered to my collar and I shifted my thighs as my body responded in the same precipitous manner it always did to the beckoning voice of its Master.  "I realize that," I swallowed hard.  "And yet," I continued, just the slightest tremor to my voice.  "Here I am, pushing my luck."  He began to grin a little, and I sighed inwardly in relief.  "So.... that probably means it'll be worth the wait.  Right?"

He chuckled a little, that velvety "eheheheh" that made my skin tingle and my lips curl at the corners.  He extended a gentlemanly hand, and when I slipped my fingers into it, he pressed a polite kiss to my knuckles.  "If this is what your heart desires," his brows crooked in dramatic fashion.  "I will abide, my love."  I was about to roll my eyes at his Edwardian presentation, but then I saw the flicker of mischief that danced through his, felt the softest nip of his teeth at my fingertip.  He placed my hand back on my knee and scooted himself to the window, propping his chin on his hand to gaze out at the passing English scenery. 

After a moment, he spoke again. "Shame though.  Such a lovely star-filled sky.  Such a quiet, tedious drive."   Warm.  Wistful.  Wicked.  I set my jaw, refused to look at him.  "I know it's a dress..."

_Fuck.  Here we go._

"Would I have to reach up from the bottom, I wonder?  Or is there some manner of sexy slit up the side?"

I continued to stare at the blur of foliage.  Aloof.

"Either way.  A dress.  I could easily get my hands up under it.  If you wanted that sort of thing, you know.  My palms, sliding up the lines of your calves, my fingers tickling over the curves of your knees.  Lace or silk stockings tonight, love?  Oh! Never mind, I'll see for myself soon enough.  Either way," he sniffed, as if he'd been speaking on the weather.  "Both feel so lovely stretched over your legs...  If you wanted that sort of thing.  Which..."  He sighed sadly.  "You don't."

I bit my lips against my grin.

"Elastic tops?  Or a belt and suspenders, I wonder.  You know I love both.  But... something about those little straps of lace and satin...  tiny buckles and bows... so perfectly feminine.  Such a lovely frame for that most... delicious... part of your body."

I exhaled a silent rueful laugh through my nose. 

"And I do mean..."  I could almost hear him licking his lips.  "Delicious."  When I didn't react, he shrugged  a bit.  "You're right.  Backseat of a limo... my head under your skirt... SO six years ago..."

I broke down at that, laughing and glancing over my shoulder at him.  He looked bored, scrolling absently through his phone, and it took every ounce of willpower I had to stop myself sliding across the seat and laying my head in his lap, mouth open, eyes pleading for him to fill it. 

Somehow I managed to resist his pouty taunting for the remainder of the drive, and as our car inched slowly down the line towards the satin ropes that bordered the red carpet, we huddled together at his window to drink in the excitement.  The gigantic spots that lit up the skies as bright as midday,  the flashes from cameras like artificial lightening, the hum of the assembled crowd that seemed to make even the vehicles vibrate above the pavement.  His arm wound around me as I began to shake beside him, the way I always did when the adrenaline and anticipation began to mix inside the cauldron of my belly.  "I don't give a fuck what's under that coat," he murmured softly in my ear.  "You're already the most beautiful woman here."  His fingers curled gently under my choker as he stole one slow, sweet kiss.

"Okay, that?" I mumbled dreamily when he released me.  "Would have gotten the coat AND the dress off... if you had only done it sooner."

"My love," he nuzzled me gently with the tip of his nose.  "Why do you think I didn't do it sooner?"

I barely had time to narrow my eyes at his cheeky wink before the door was opening.  The noise from outside peaked on a wave of feminine screams as he stepped into the blinking brilliance of the evening, shining eyes and dashing smile and sinfully long legs.  He kindly brushed aside the PA who held his hand out to me, a warmly possessive "I've got her" falling almost absently from his lips as he helped me to my feet.  Luke, ever vigilant, ever faithful, bustled to Tom's side from the corner of the crowd, and I took what I knew might be the only moment of genuine distraction I'd get.  Gesturing the page back with a flap of my hand, I swept off my coat and, after slipping my own mobile from my clutch, handed wrap and bag over with a shuddering sigh.  Luke saw me first, his eyes widening a bit.  "Oh.  Oh... wow..."

The look on Tom's face when he finally turned... even if a thousand flashbulbs hadn't exploded at that moment... the image would be etched in my brain forever.  Eyes blown as wide as I'd ever seen them, jaw sagging.  He bent just a hint at the waist, as if he'd taken some unseen nudge to the gut, and I could see his fingertips twitching against the linen of his trouser legs.  Slowly, his hands raised in a "look at you" gesture, and he began to close the distance between us, stopping only a hair's breadth away.  I tilted my face up to his, beaming under his gaze so full of love and pride and lust and surprise.  "You..."  He growled softly.  "Are a goddess."

"Oh, yeah?"  I grinned.  "Kneel."

I watched his tongue play wryly at the corner of his mouth for a beat, two.  And then he held his hands out in perfect supplication, and slowly descended to his knees in front of me.  His eyes never left mine, his irises ablaze with an excited, playful fire; I still don’t know how I managed to stop myself from clapping my hands in delight like a child.  Voices erupted from the sea of photogs, calling our names, imploring our focus, but neither of us turned, neither looked away for even a heartbeat.  He stayed on the ground before me for a long moment before rising again with the same slow, fluid grace.  The evening breeze danced through the gauzy fabric of my skirt, concealing the hand that careesed its way up the inside of my leg as he craned his body forward; I nearly had to arch away to prevent a full-on collision of his chest with mine.  Finally, standing toe to toe, I smiled up at him.  “Thank you,” I whispered softly.

He didn’t say a word, only reached up to catch a stray tendril of hair that had slipped from its clip to tickle my cheek, tucking it behind my ear with delicate care.  And just as I thought the moment was ending, his fingers slipped down to the collar at my throat, curling around it to pull my head to the angle he desired before claiming my mouth with his own.  The swell of excited and longing-filled cheers that erupted from the onlookers was quickly drowned out by the pounding of my own blood in my ears and I closed my eyes, surrendering to him entirely for that brief, perfect moment where it seemed the whole world watched.  He was smiling down at me when I opened them again, his lips forming the words without sound.   “ _Tell me…_ ”

I braided my fingers firmly through his.  “ _I’m yours…_ ”

And then Luke was beside us, one hand on Tom’s shoulder, the other at my elbow.  “Well, I know what I’ll be doing with my morning tomorrow, thanks for that.” 

I couldn’t help but giggle as he urged us into the gauntlet to be swallowed by the lights and the colors and the smiles and the shouts.  Handsome men, their beautiful women, flashbulbs and signatures and microphones and “Oh, my God, that dress is amazing,” and “your little chap must be getting so big!”  We were paused around an AP interviewer with Zachary and Missy when he nuzzled sweetly against my temple, the command almost an afterthought.  “Panties please, my love.”

He was more than a little intrigued by my grin of satisfaction.  “Yes, Sir.”

Turning my body casually toward his, I groped subtly along the panels of my skirt until I found the slit.  Making certain his eyes were glued to my hand, I slipped my fingers underneath to catch the string that held the wisp of silk in place over my hip.  His jaw sagged a bit when I tugged it slowly, pulling the ribbon taut so that he could see it for what it was.  A quick turn of my body, a similar sleight of hand at the other hip, and I didn’t even have to bend over.  Just a wiggle and a shimmy that could have been mistaken for star-struck girlish excitement, and I gathered the fabric discreetly in my fist.  Jaw taut with admiration, he pulled the lapel of his tux jacket aside so that I could slip the lingerie into his pocket.  “Nicely done,” he murmured before brushing a deceptively calm kiss to my lips. 

He escorted me on a bit quicker after that, etiquette in place but strained.  Her name was Davika, and her ID badge bore the BBC logo; she was cooing over the photos in my phone when I felt his hand, gentle but firm, close around my elbow.  “Come along, love… we should keep moving…”

I glanced up, surprised.  “Tom?  The press…”

He leaned close.  Casual.  But his lips grazed my ear, making me shiver as he spoke.  “Unless you want our press coverage to be about my taking you right here in front of all, you’ll come along.”  He smiled down at me lovingly, every bit the picture of the doting husband.  “And you’ll do so quickly.”

I could feel the flush of excitement coloring my skin from the roots of my hair to the dip of my cleavage.  Somehow I managed to blurt out a polite dismissal, and Tom easily took my mobile from me, slipping it smoothly into his pocket before tucking my hand into the crook of his arm.  He moved me carefully, deliberately, choosing a path that glided us practically invisibly behind the other stars clustered around reporters and cameramen.  We were almost through the front door when a man broke off from the crowd, hurrying over to block the door.  “Michelle… hey Michelle, hold up a second…”

Tom and I both paused at the Brooklyn accent, at the familiarity of his words.  I scanned his wiry frame, his pinched expression beneath his slicked black hair.  “I’m sorry,” I glanced up at Tom, then back at the newcomer.  “You’re looking for me?”

“Oh, hell, yeah.”  He grabbed my hand in both of his and began pumping it furiously.  “You probably don’t remember me… but that one writers’ symposium… a couple of years ago in L.A… some song and dance bullshit about electronic media… the flood of amateur accessibility…”  I blinked my eyes at his unfiltered prose, wracking my brain to try and conjure the encounter he spoke of to mind.  “Griffith.  Johnny Griffith.”   I bit my lower lip, embarrassed.  “Oh, shit, baby, don’t feel bad.  I wouldn’t remember me either if I had this dude up my dress every night.  If I was a woman, I mean… you know what I’m sayin’?”  He released my hand and reached for Tom’s.  “Hey, man, John Griffith, nice to actually meet you.”

I could feel Tom’s hand sliding up my shoulder to the back of my neck, his fingers stroking lightly over my collar as he participated in a polite handshake.  “Likewise, Mr. Griffith,” he smiled thinly.  “And I’m so sorry to be dismissive, but my wife and I really are needed inside…”

“Oh, yean, man, no problem… no problem.”  He let go of Tom’s hand, but still made no move to step aside, turning his focus back to me.  “Hey, babe…”  Tom stiffened, puffing up to his full height, and the other man took a half step back.  “Sorry… Michelle… listen… you think maybe you and I could talk sometime?  I been doin’ this freelance shit five years now and I gotta tell you, these rags don’t pay what they used to.”  He rolled his eyes.  “I been thinkin’ about making the jump to books, you know?  Like you did?  Sure would help me out if I could pick that pretty little brain of yours…”

I blanched a little, completely unsure what to say.  “Oh!  Oh, gosh.  Well…”  I looked up at Tom, begging silently for help.

“You know, Mr. Griffith,” Tom’s tone was polite but clipped.  “Probably better than my wife is Grace Burkhardt in Raleigh.  She was the one who guided Michelle from one manner of publishing to the other.”

I tightened my grip on him in wordless thanks.  “Oh, Tom’s right!”  I nodded enthusiastically.  “Grace… I never could have done it without her.  You should look her up…”

Clearly chagrined by the discharge, Griffith sniffed audibly.  “Yeah.  Burkhardt.  Raleigh.  Thanks.  That’s North Carolina, right?”  He shuffled slowly aside.  “Literary Mecca Raleigh, North Carolina.”  He saw Tom’s eyes narrow dangerously, and his expression cleared a bit.  “No… seriously.  Thanks.  Someone on the inside.  That’s good information, good to know.”  He swept his arm to the side in a go-ahead, and Tom and I quickly strode past him.

No sooner were we inside the still largely empty hall when I could feel the electric tingle between our bodies once more.  I willed myself to stay steady on my feet as Tom led me down and around a corner, his fingers still playing with the clasp of the chain at the nape of  my neck.  Finally, a quick right led us to a door marked “Ladies”, and my heart skipped a beat as he ushered me through it.  The vanity room was cozy, with two small elegant benches, but he simply pressed me against the wall before taking a step back.  The cool plaster against my spine only prickled my skin further, and I swallowed audibly as he surveyed me from head to toe, his tongue running absently over his lips.

“Fucking brilliant,” he breathed.  “Loki himself could not have conjured a more perfect Midgardian princess.”  And then, slowly, his eyes darkened and hooded, he stepped closer.  “Shall I call him here, my dear,” he purred.  “To reduce you to nothing but a wet, shaking Midgardian whore?”  I lifted my chin in a show of defiance, but knew it wasn’t hard for him to see the hungry desire swirling in my eyes, the desperate pressure of my teeth on my lip.

That was exactly what I wanted.  And he bloody well knew it.

He stopped abruptly, the toes of his shoes nearly flush against mine.  He lifted his own chin, holding my gaze from just below his regal brow with unquestionable authority.  “Unzip my trousers,” he commanded quietly.  “And take out my cock.”

I wanted to play, to simper and coo, but all the moisture in my body had surged to the throbbing flesh between my legs.  But even if my tongue had not lay stiff and useless in my parched mouth, my throat was so locked in excitement the noise would have remained vaulted in my chest anyway.  My lack of a voice, however, mattered not a whit to the body he’d spent so much time and care crafting into a vessel for his pleasure; my fingers were already closed on the thin metal grip, my thighs quaking at the soft hum of his zipper parting under my effort.  No sooner was it open when hot, velvety flesh filled my hand, stretched taut and aching over thick, hard muscle.

He saw my smile.  “Proud of yourself, eh, little whore?”  His own grin was wickedly confident.  “Go ahead… take a look.  See what your God has for you.”  I cast my eyes down,  running my tongue over my lips at the sight: his ridged, veiny length flushed and straining, the curve of his head pushed proudly free of his foreskin, the fluid of his arousal glistening at its tip.  He reached down, catching the bead on his fingertip.  “Open that naughty little mouth…”

I obeyed, and the rich, salty flavor of him spreading over my tongue as he pushed his finger between my lips finally uncinched my throat, sending a low moan bubbling from my lips.  “Mmm, yes,” he chuckled wickedly.  “You love it, don’t you, lovely little whore?  Tasting me… your God… your Master…”  He rolled his hips, slowly, deliberately, sliding his shaft through the ring of my fingers.  “I’ve so much more for you, little harlot,” he quirked a teasing brow.  “But how to give it to you?”

_Ohhh, God…_

He rocked his hips again, and again, his mouth puckered in a tight “oooh” of pleasure.  “I could make you just hold me like this… give you the honor of watching while I fuck this tiny fist of yours.”  The pressure of my fingers around his shaft milked more and more precum from his tip, wetting my palm and allowing him to slip much easier through my grasp.  “Or…” His body snapped still, his hand closing firmly around my wrist.  “I could make you work for it… make you stroke me until I’m ready to spill all over your fingers.” 

I bit back another moan as he began to guide my touch, down to the root of  his cock, then all the way up until my hand was closed completely around his crown.  I pressed back against the wall, shifting my clenched thighs against one another, and a diabolical grin split his face.  “Do you enjoy being my toy so much, little whore, that you can’t stand still?”   He released his grip on my wrist, stroking his fingertips lightly over my arm.  “I think you do.  I think you love it.  I think you _crave_ it.”  He lifted his chin a notch.  “Show me.”  I blanched a little, and his hand shot out to grip my throat, firm but gentle, his thumb stroking teasingly at the corner of my jaw.  “We both know your own lust is glistening on your sweet, pink lips, on the soft, secret flesh of your thighs.”  He leaned a bit closer.  “Lift your skirt… and show me… _now_.”

I whimpered again as my hand moved to comply, gathering the soft, cool fabric and drawing it up over my waist.  He kicked my legs apart and my cheeks flushed crimson as my juices did, indeed, begin to drip down the inside of my legs.  His laugh was gentle, delighted, its edge born of sensual urgency rather than cold cruelty.  “You blush so prettily for me, my pet.  What a uniquely delicious plaything you are.”  His head fell back on his neck briefly, his hips pumping in time with my stroking.  “Such talented… obedient… little hands…”  His eyes met mine, the blue nearly lost in the swirling black.  “Touch yourself, and see if you agree.”

His free hand moved to hold my gown at my hip as my own slipped down my stomach; I breathed a shuddering sigh as my fingers parted my swollen, aching folds.  “Nice and hot and slick, yes?”  I gasped, nodding weakly.  “Find that aching little clit of yours,” he urged.  “See if you can make it as hard as my cock.”  His eyes were glued to my fingers as they pulled back the hood of flesh to expose the little bud, already quivering and throbbing in time with my pounding heart.  “Give it a tug, pet… that’s it…”  His hand on my throat pressed me carefully against the wall, his body rolling faster and harder in my grip.  Moaning softly, I rubbed my thumb over his head, mirroring the motion of my fingers over my own engorged nub.  “Oh, there’s a good girl…”

His hold on me shifted, his hands grabbing my shoulders and forcing me to my knees.  “Look at me, little whore, and open those lovely lips.”  I obeyed, gazing up at him in utter worship as my hands worked faster, frantic, his cock, my pussy. 

“Please…” I implored.

“Oh, yes,” he snarled.  “Beg for it.  Beg for it all.  The wanton, whorish fire only I can stoke in you.  The raw, aching hunger only I can feed in you.  The complete and utter subjugation you give that is mine, and mine alone.”

“Please…” I sobbed quietly, full of need, full of gratitude.

His expression was arrogant, magnanimous at once.  “Fill your little cunt, pet… and I’ll fill your wicked little mouth.”

With a mewl of piteous thanks, I thrust my fingers up and inside, finding and pressing against my g-spot as he spilled hot and thick onto my tongue.  His hands on my neck held me steady as the combination of sensations… the tart and musky flavor of him, the oaky scent of his arousal mixing with mine, the sound of his controlled panting and grunting and my own blood rushing… all coalesced in the pit of my stomach before exploding outward in electric fingers of ecstasy that burned and soothed every nerve and muscle.  His forehead came to rest against the wall above me as he brought himself back to full control; I gently teased his dripping crown with tiny kisses as I cupped my own aching sex through every last twitch and shiver.

At last, with a warm smile, he took my hands and helped me to my feet, carefully smoothing my dress down my body.  Then, with a wry grin, he slipped the silk of my panties from his pocket, his gaze searing its way through me as he tenderly wiped the tiny spots of smeared lipstick from the corners of my mouth before tucking them away again.  I tilted my head in invitation, his fingers played at my collar as he accepted.  One long, ravenous kiss, and then the Asgardian was gone, and my Tom gallantly offered me his arm.

“Shall we, my love?”


	20. Chapter 20

As much as I’d been looking forward to a night out on Tom’s arm, I felt a brief pang of regret as we slipped quietly down the hall back towards the throng now filing into the dining room.  Our tryst in the ladies’ loo had been scorchingly hot and bitingly satisfying, but as the afterglow faded, part of me just wanted him to drag me out the door, shuffle me back into a car that would race through the night... back to our home… back to our bed…

“Mmm, I know that look,” his voice dark honey in my ear.  “Greedy little minx…”

“What?” I sniffed at him indignantly.  “I don’t have a ‘look’.”

“Right, darling,” he threw his head back and laughed before leaning close once again to whisper into my ear.  “Just like you don’t have a scent…”

I blanched, looking up at him in self-conscious horror.  “Wh-what?”

“Oh, my love,” he grinned.  “Any hunter worth his salt would be able to smell you for miles.”  He ducked his head to nip at my neck.  “It’s a good thing you’re marked as mine…”

“There you are!”

The sweet, lilting voice drew his attention, the interruption sending a flush through my cheeks.  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you… my God, it turned out so beautiful!”  Emma crushed me in an enthusiastic hug as Chris rocked back on his heels.  “All you need now is a set of golden horns…”

Evans snorted a laugh as he and Tom shook hands.  “You’ve got horns you can give her, right, dude?”

“Oh yes,” Tom drawled playfully.  “My gorgeous wife can always help herself when it comes to my horns.”

I crooked my jaw, shaking my head in rueful embarrassment as Emma rolled her eyes.  “So sorry,” she winced.

“Oh, and the staff, man,” Chris grinned.  “You should totally let her have the staff.”

“Oooh,” Tom quirked a brow.  “I should give her the staff.  She could probably do amazing things with the staff.  It’s quite powerful, you know…”

Evans nodded somberly.  “A thing of great mystery and even greater power…”

Tom nodded as well.  “Everybody wants to get their hands on it, that staff…”

“All right, all right,” I held my hands up in irritation.  “Not that this conversation isn’t completely hilarious, and not at all at my expense, but we have a table waiting…”

The evening was an absolute dream.  Tom pulled my chair for me so I could slide in next to Emma before he took his spot next to Hemsworth, and the first round of champagne was gone in a flash.  We actually made it through appetizers before mobiles appeared; after that, it was an endless parade of children’s smiling faces and new houses and pets and vacation snaps.  Dinner was delicious, and by the time the dance floor was set and the music started, Tom was more than itching to get out of his seat.  We whirled to the center of the crowd together, and the years between that moment and our first night together in New York melted away under the throbbing beat and flashing lights.  Like any other red-blooded woman, I was ecstatically thrilled watching him move, always enthralled by the grace in his long, powerful legs, the seductive roll of the rhythm through his lean, toned body.  But nothing ever compared to the moments when the bass melted into softer tones, strumming guitar, whispering piano, when his arms caught me, pulled me close, and held me against his heat and his heartbeat.  His fingers stroked my hand that lay against his chest, his nose nuzzled my cheek, and we floated alone in that sea of bodies until the music shifted again.

I had returned to the table for a quick swallow of water, and was giggling as I watched Tom and Robert and Zachary, still out on the floor, all attempting to outdo one another, when a hand caught my elbow in a firm tug.  “Hey, baby,” Griffith grinned as I turned, “having a blast, I see…”

“Yes, thank you,” I pulled my arm from his grasp as his gaze crawled over the room.  “I’m sorry… I thought you were with the press.  I didn’t realize you were a guest.”

“Heh,” he leaned closer, muttering conspiratorially.  “I won’t tell if you won’t.”  I smiled thinly, glancing over my shoulder, but his hand returned insistently to my arm.  “Look, I appreciate the Burkhardt thing and all, but you know,” he shifted closer to me.  “I kinda have an agent already, know what I’m sayin’?  And he’s great and all, and… I don’t know, maybe I’ll give that Grace chick a call, maybe she’ll be more the bulldog I need.  But… you know… I don’t really need a paper-pusher.”  He slicked a hand through his hair.  “I guess, you know, what I’m lookin’ to get is an in.  Someone really on the inside, someone with an edge.  Someone with guts.  You know, like you got guts, writin’ about all that stuff you guys do…”

“Mr. Griffith,” I took a step back.  “I really don’t think I can help you very much…”

“Oh, hey, come on, baby, don’t be like that,” he retreated a bit on his own.  “I ain’t lookin’ to invade your territory.  Hell, I ain’t been laid proper in more than a year, and even then it wasn’t anything I’d put in a book.”  He shifted a bit on his feet.  “I just… you know… you write about stuff that most people’d be all up in arms about.  But it doesn’t go down that way.  People like your stuff, they wanna read more.”  He narrowed his eyes just a bit.  “I was just, you know, wondering how you do that…”

I breathed a soft sigh, the first whispers of guilt tickling at the pit of my stomach.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Griffith,” I smiled gently.  “I really do wish I could help you… I just don’t think I can.”  I swallowed hard as he cut his gaze sideways, clearly disappointed.  “But… listen.  There’s a scouting editor at Doubleday in New York.  He’s a really great guy, and he’s always trying to look beyond the mainstream.  I don’t know how to help you find… whatever it is you’re looking for… but he might.”

Griffith’s face lit up a bit at that.  “Yeah?  Doubleday, really?  Yeah, Michelle, that would be great… really great…”

“What’s really great?”

Tom’s voice at my elbow, his hand at the back of my neck.  I turned my face up to his in time to catch his sweet kiss, and the storm almost hidden in the depths of his eyes. 

“Your lady here,” Griffith grinned, a bit over solicitously.  “She’s really somethin’.”

“That she is,” Tom stroked a finger over my cheek, and I could feel the urgent expectation in his touch.

“I was just telling Mr. Griffith that I could probably put him in touch with Douglas in New York,” I explained.  “That if anyone besides Grace could guide him in his endeavors…”

“Of course,” Tom smiled down at me, winding his arm around my waist before shifting his focus.  “Mr. Griffith… please don’t think me rude.  This was not meant to be a working dinner for my wife.  She’s here to enjoy the food and the music and the company of friends we don’t get to see as much as we’d like.  So, please,” he gestured to the man’s press badge, which bore the ID of his sponsor.  “We’ll be happy to leave word for you at AP.”

It was a dismissal, and Griffith knew it.  Glancing at me, he held out a hand to Tom.  “Yeah, man, you know.  Whatever.  I didn’t mean to ruin the lady’s night…”

“Oh, you haven’t,” Tom assured him as he shook graciously.  “It’s just… well…” He gave a disarming cock of his head.

“No, man, it’s okay.”  Griffith straightened, squaring his shoulders.  “Thanks for your time, Michelle.  Really.  I appreciate it.”

He turned on his heel and made his departure, and Tom stepped in front of me, caressing my jaw with his large, warm palm.  “Everything okay?” He asked softly.

“Yeah,” I grinned sheepishly.  “He’s a pest, but I’m pretty sure he’s harmless.”

“Well,” he grinned back, a bit thinly.  “I’m pretty sure I won’t be letting you out of my sight any more this evening.”  The words had barely left his mouth when the soft strains of Jason Mraz drifted invitingly through the speakers, and he laughed at the delight in my face.  “Our song, darling…”

We continued to circle the dance floor until we were dizzy and breathless, then camped out at our table until the crowd had thinned to just the core Avengers and their loves.   On a wave of rich, friendly laughter, Feige and Connors stepped over for words before asking us all to “Assemble” on the dais outside for one last photo op.  We had just taken our marks beside the Hemsworths when it hit me.  “Tom!” I blanched with a frown.  “My phone!”  His expression clouded just a bit as he groped at his pockets.  “No… no,” I shook my head.  “I never gave it back to you!  I left it on the table!”  We both glanced over our shoulders to see the last of the security detail ushering the stragglers out of the building. 

“Don’t worry, love,” he brushed a comforting kiss to my temple.  “We have to do this… can’t be helped.  But as soon as we’re finished here, I’ll go and fetch it for you.”  He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear as I nodded, and then the photogs were shouting and the flashbulbs were popping, and we smiled easily at one another before turning to face the lenses.

After several shots of the entire group, spouses and lovers and companions were led to the side so the core cast could pose as necessary.  It was amusing to watch the men preen and posture, but after a dozen or so shots, and no real end in sight, I began to fidget, chewing absently on my thumbnail.  Ten more minutes, and I blew my bangs back off my forehead.  Tom was busy with some reporter, his head bent characteristically towards her microphone, and so I decided to duck back inside, figuring the quicker I found my phone, the quicker the two of us could be off… in the limo… on our way home… alone.

The dining hall was empty, not even a busperson in sight, as I made my way back to our table.  My phone lay undisturbed by my champagne glass; I tipped the last of the amber liquid into my mouth as I checked for missed calls or messages. 

“Michelle?”

I jumped at the sound of my name, a startled yip hiccupping out of my throat.  I whirled to see Griffith, who paused in his approach, both hands aloft in the air.  “Hey… hey… sorry.  I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well, you did,” I snipped, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice.  “Jesus…”  I swiped my hand nervously over the screen of my cellular.  “I didn’t think there was anybody left in here.”

“Yeah, well,” he shifted his weight from foot to foot.  “Confession time… I followed you.”  My mouth went dry and I backed up a step, but he did as well, his hands still hovering in a gesture of surrender.  “Look, don’t freak out, okay?  I’m not… what’s to say, I won’t…”  He shook his head a bit, taking a deep breath before standing straight and trying again.  “I was just hoping I could get those numbers from you, okay?  You know, before you go getting wrapped back up with your husband and your kid and your work…”  He narrowed his eyes at me ever so slightly.  “You are workin’ now, right?  You ain’t just… you know…” He winked.  “Just playin’ house with Mr. Wonderful, huh?”  I stiffened at that, taking another step back.  “Oh, baby, hey,” his mouth twisted in apology.  “I just meant… you know…”

I waved my hand, impatient, irritated.  “Look, if I had a pen…”                                                        

“Oh, I got one,” he hurried to my side, pulling a ballpoint and a notepad from his back pocket and thrusting them into my hands.  Gritting my teeth, I tapped the passcode into my mobile in order to access my contact list.  “Cute kid,” he remarked over my shoulder at the image of Jack curled asleep on Tom’s chest that appeared beneath the date and time stamp.  “That’s the new book, right?  That whole turkey-baster thing?”I rolled my eyes beneath my bangs as I hastily scribbled the names and numbers I’d promised, desperately eager to have him out of my hair.  And as I capped the pen to hand it back, my name in that voice I loved so much, like an answered prayer.

“Michelle, my love… there you are.”

Tom closed the distance between us in long, swift strides, sweeping me close, not so subtly putting his body between mine and Griffith’s with an unmistakable air of authority.  His hand tugged lightly at my collar but his focus was completely zeroed in on the man now slowly shuffling back.  “Mr. Griffith,” his tone thin, taut.  “You’ll excuse us, I’m certain.”

“Of course, man.”  He didn’t even bother to hide his sarcasm, shaking the notepad at me a bit before tucking it deep into his breast pocket with a hint of smug satisfaction.  “Thanks again, baby, you’re a real doll.”  He spun on his heel and swaggered away, tossing over his shoulder a suggestive, “You two have a good night, know what I’m sayin’?”

I was still watching his retreating form when Tom's hand on my neck seized me by the scruff, lightning quick.  I yelped quietly as he dragged me into the opposite hall, his grasp strong and steady, his body pinning mine into the corner.  His other hand gripped my throat, carefully but firmly, tilting my face up to his.  His heat, his power, his control all had me trembling with desire, until the fire in his eyes blazed through me, and I suddenly realized it was fueled not by arousal, but rather raw, pulsing anger.  I whimpered, shrinking into myself as he loomed above me.

"Jesus Christ, Michelle, do you have any idea how utterly fucking _stupid_ that was?"

I could feel my eyes widening, my lower lip trembling ever so slightly.  "I-I-I told you, Tom," I stammered.  "My phone..."

" _I_ told _you_ ," he snapped, his grip at the back of my neck tensing just a bit.  "That I would come back for it once we were finished outside."

"T-Tom," I lay my hand against his chest, "I didn't think it would be a big deal..."

"Well, you've certainly got the not thinking part correct.”  His jaw clenched tighter, his pupils narrowed to pinpricks in the stormy blue of his eyes, and he stepped back so abruptly I sagged against the wall.  “Fucking hell…”

I stood stock still, braced between the cool tile and plaster, feeling hot, bitter tears pool at the back of my mouth as I stared.  He turned his back to me, raking his hands through his hair before dropping them to balled fists at his sides.  His shoulders rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, but I knew, if I could see his face, his nostrils would be flaring below a furrowed brow as he dragged breath into his lungs to help him maintain his composure.  I gave him a moment, took one for myself.  And when I felt I could move without collapsing to the floor, I stepped to him to lay my palm on his shoulder.  “Tom…”

He stepped away from me, leaving my arm hovering midair, casting his eyes to the ceiling.  “Michelle… don’t.”  I swallowed hard, my throat clicking so loudly I swear it echoed in the empty hall.  I moved closer to him once more, meaning to lay my cheek against his arm, needing to touch him, to connect. But again he shrugged me off, whirling to glare at me with a mixture of anger, impatience, and most unbearable, fear and hurt.  “Michelle!  I said… don’t!”

My tears would have fallen had the edge in his voice not sucked the gravity from the room, leaving me floating in the dead space between us.  “Tom,” I whispered brokenly.  “Please…”  His chin dropped to his chest, and he exhaled a long, shuddering sigh.  Finally, he gestured towards the door, his other hand floating at the small of my back, close enough for me to feel his warmth, but a gulf of distance between my skin and his. 

My only saving grace was that the majority of the crowd outside had dispersed, so there were few around to witness my cool escort to our waiting car.  I caught Luke’s eye as Tom held the door for me and knew at once it was thanks to him.  I offered a weak smile of gratitude; he chucked a finger under his own chin, then pointed at me with a wink.  I slid into the back where my coat and bag waited for me; I wound myself miserably in one while unceremoniously shoving my accursed cellular in the other.  Tom folded himself into the seat beside me, planting his elbow on the armrest and his chin on his fist as soon as the door was closed.  As the vehicle pulled away from the curb, I made one last effort to bridge the distance of a few inches that felt like impossible miles.  “Tom…”

“Michelle,” cold, weary.  “Do not make me say it again.”

Gravity slammed back onto my shoulders with the force of a tidal wave, and the tears that had been boiling behind my lids now scalded their way down my cheeks.  I couldn’t weep, I couldn’t sob, the weight of the situation too heavy on my chest.  All I could do was blink sorrow and hitch in air in small, childish sniffles as my fingers curled around the platinum chain at my neck.

I was still twisting it absently against my skin, reminding myself that it was still there, when the limo finally eased into the silent fog of our driveway an agonizing eternity later.  Again, Tom held the door for me, but there was no hand to help me to my feet, and when he plucked the key from my stupid trembling fingers that couldn’t guide it into the lock, he took great care to touch only the metal and not my hand.  He ushered me wordlessly into the house, closing and securing the door behind us.  I lifted my eyes timidly to his, hoping that the time and silence had calmed at least a little of his anger.  But the cobalt glaciers that glanced away as quickly as I found them snuffed that spark, and I watched helplessly as he climbed the stairs. 

I floated numbly to the guest bathroom to splash cold water on my face, to hold a cool washcloth to the back of my neck.  Staring down my reflection, I berated myself silently, not only for disobeying the simplest of instructions, but for being unable to comprehend that disregarding them would upset him so.  I tried to imagine his disappointment, turning away from the cameras and the lights to find me gone.  Especially after reassuring me so sweetly that he would run what really was an insignificant errand, if only I would help him see through his professional obligation.  I gave in to my own boredom, my own impatience, and I didn’t even bother to tell him where I was going.  I stroked my fingers over my collar one more time, my lip trembling, before turning the light off, unable to bear one more second of my failure staring back at me.

Standing at the foot of the stairs, I listened to the deafening silence blaring from the dark hallway above me.  No light spilling through the open bedroom door.  No creak of floorboards that would groan pleasantly were he pacing back and forth.  I could have made the climb to see for myself, but I couldn’t imagine which would be worse; to step into our room only to have him demand that I leave, to watch him wordlessly surrender the space to me to seek solitude elsewhere, or to find him tucked into our bed, asleep, without me.  Somehow my leaden legs carried me to the sofa, and I plucked absently at the soft material of my skirt as I sank into the corner, gripping the heel of one pump as I tucked my legs up underneath me.  It was a blessing when the sobs finally broke through, drowning out the symphony of quiet drifting through the house.

I watched the hands on the mantle clock circle its face, then once more, until just before four a.m.  And then, at last…

“Michelle?  I need to see you in the bedroom, please.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: TRIGGER WARNING for spanking, discipline, D/s practice

The sound of his voice floating down the stairs loosened the knot in my chest just enough to send a new torrent of tears flooding down my cheeks. Swiping at them with the backs of my hands, I rose slowly on shaking legs, smoothing my skirt down and gripping the banister to keep myself steady as I climbed.

He had turned on his bedside lamp, and now stood staring out our floor to ceiling window at the damp fog that swirled through the moonlit back yard, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He was still fully dressed; he hadn’t even loosened his tie. I could see the divot sunk into his side of the bed where he must have sat until rising to call for me, and the thought of the stasis that my behavior had thrown him into made me want to curl into a ball at his feet and sob. “T-T-Tom?”

He sighed heavily before turning to face me. “Come in here, Michelle.”

I stepped into the room, my hands fluttering like wounded birds at my sides. Only the thought of crumbling to dust at his rejection kept me from trying to take him in my arms; I forced myself to stop at the foot of the bed and await further instruction.

He stared at my feet in silence for long moments; his eyes, when he finally lifted them to mine, were still a tsunami of bitter emotion. “Michelle… what happened tonight…”

The words bubbled up; I was helpless to stop them. “I’m so sorry, Tom, I’m so, so sorry. I should have listened to you; I never should have gone back inside! I’m so sorry… I disobeyed you and I’m sorry… I should have followed your instructions…”

“Michelle,” his tone was soft and hard at once. “Stop.”

My lips continued to move but I at least managed to choke off my voice. After taking a second to be certain I wouldn’t interrupt again, he started over. “What happened tonight,” I saw the muscles at the corners of his jaw clench and tick. “That will _never_ happen again. Do you understand me?”

“I do, Tom, I do!” I nodded frantically. “I do and it won’t! I will _never_ disobey your instructions in public again! I won’t! I promise! I’ll never do it again because I _do_ understand… I do!”

I had thought my reassurances would smooth his brow, relax his expression, but to my utter dismay, it only clouded further. “No, Michelle,” he murmured softly. “No… I don’t think you do.”

His words hit me hard, and I swayed a bit on my feet. “What...? How could…? Tom, how can you say that to me?”

“Oh, Michelle,” he pressed his hands to his face, raking his fingers through his hair before sinking into the chair in the corner. “How can you not know? How can you not see?” His lips twisted in a tight moue of distress. “After all this time… how can you not understand how dangerous it is?” I blinked abruptly, confused, and his eyes narrowed. “You went back into that building alone. No security. No one with you. Christ, Michelle, you didn’t have your phone, and you didn’t even tell anyone where you were going…” His voice betrayed him, cracking and catching in his throat, and he paused abruptly. He passed a trembling hand over his mouth, and the floor beneath me seemed to shift and tilt as I slowly realized I hadn’t just made him angry by disregarding his instructions. But the full weight of what I’d done didn’t sink in until his eyes met mine, naked and wet, and he spoke again. “Michelle... once… when I was in Cannes…”

He paused again, considering his words. But finding them, all at once, was unnecessary. My mind flashed back to those days before we met, when I knew him only as the world knew him – the dashing young actor hoping his star would rise. I’d heard about the incident, of course – the fan breaching the barricade, the security response needed to bring the situation under control. I hadn’t seen any of that footage, but I had seen what was left in its wake: Tom, pale, visibly shaken, valiantly maintaining composure but clearly haunted by what had happened.

And now, written all over his face, the imaginings of what could have happened tonight.

Because of me. My carelessness, my impatience, my thoughtlessness.

My knees began to shake, and I sank to the floor, the skirt of my gown pooling around me as I buried my head in my hands. “Tom…” No voice to the word, only a whisper of shattered remorse. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.”

Silence hung between us for long moments as he let me cry, let the true burden of all the dreadful possibilities settle about my shoulders like a lead blanket. Then, very gently, he took me by the shoulders, shifting our positions until I sat in the chair and he knelt in front of me. I was grateful, even though I knew the action was not meant to give comfort. And sure enough, when my eyes met his, they were still guarded and cool, the gaze of a teacher not at all certain his pupil truly grasped the lesson. I dragged my hands over my face, wiping away my tears and lifting my chin, doing everything I could to let him know I was there, with him, listening, desperate to make it right.

His gaze connected with mine, and I saw a flicker of warmth flash ever so briefly over his features before he set his jaw. “Michelle, I know you don’t consider yourself a celebrity. I know you see us… you and I… as somehow different. But Michelle…” I could see him struggling, the husband who wanted to soothe warring with the man who needed to teach. “You simply cannot afford to carry yourself that way any longer. Our life… quieter now than it has been, yes… but our life is public. Our work… our marriage… our son. It’s all very public. And Michelle…” He swallowed hard. “I love you. You’re my entire world. You… Jack. You have to understand how quickly carelessness like you displayed tonight could bring it all crashing down.”

I sat quietly, staring into his eyes and letting his words sink in before I nodded. “I do, Tom. I mean,” I gulped in a deep breath. “I do now.”

His eyes narrowed a bit. “Do you, Michelle? Do you really?”

I nodded miserably. “I do.” I took another moment to let my mind troll the dark and murky waters that must have pulled him under the moment he saw me alone with Griffith, so close, and completely unobserved. My skin began to prickle, as if it would crawl right off my body, and my tears rained into my lap once more as I shook my head. “No wonder you don’t want to touch me.”

“Oh, Michelle,” his warm, firm hands closed on my neck, his thumbs nudging my chin until I faced him once more. The brief flush of relief that flooded over me at the contact cooled quickly beneath the ice in his stare, the slight tremble to his fingers, and the timbre of his voice that dropped as it gave rise to words that he was not pleased to utter: “I’ve never wanted to spank you so badly in my life.”

Those words may have offended or intimidated another. But they unlocked the vise around my heart with quiet efficiency, allowing me to truly breathe again, assuring me that there was a road back, a way to atone, a way to cross the gulf between us and find his arms again. I nodded gratefully, wiping my eyes as he rose in front of me, offering me his hand to help me to my feet.

“Go and undress,” he instructed me softly. “I’ll be waiting.”

I crossed to the bathroom as quickly as my unsteady legs would allow, already drawing deep breaths into my chest to try and center myself. My fingers were more steady and sure as I unclipped my hair and let it fall down my back, and I sighed into the rough heat of the washcloth I used to wash my face. Moving into the closet, I stepped out of my heels at last before reaching back to unhook the fastenings of my dress. I placed it carefully on its hanger before unclipping my belt and garters and slipping my stockings down my legs. I continued my deep breathing as I ran a brush methodically through my tangled tresses until they hung, smooth and cool, against my spine. Then, after one last glance at myself in the mirror, I turned to step back into the bedroom.

The linens of the bed had been turned down, the cuffs he would use to secure my wrists adjusted to the proper length and waiting in the center of the headboard. The pillows were stacked neatly in the middle of the mattress, ready to support my hips and waist. And Tom, standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes cool and commanding as they drank in my form. My heart ached at the sight of him: long, lean, calm. His jacket and waistcoat were draped over his valet, his tie dangling between them. His shirt was open and untucked, his sleeves cuffed above his elbows, revealing long lines of muscle and sinew under ruddy, masculine skin.

And dangling from his hand, the curve brushing the leg of his trousers, his belt.

My breath caught briefly in my throat as I let my gaze move over the thick leather strap, and the almost endless stretch of silence suddenly made sense, reassuring me that he was not acting in haste, even while it reminded me how badly my irresponsibility had shaken him. He waited for my eyes to return to his, then with a small nod, he beckoned me closer. I tried to keep my head up as I closed the distance between us, but I couldn't bear to look any higher than his feet until a single finger under my chin silently commanded it. My wet eyes shed their weight over my lashes as I looked at him, so certain and sure.

"I love you, Michelle," he spoke softly, reverently. "You worried me, made me very angry, disappointed me terribly. Do you understand that?"

I nodded, my lip trembling. "I do, Tom. I do."

"Do you understand how? Why?"

Again, I nodded. "I need to pay more attention to my surroundings,” I spoke sincerely. "To be more aware... of how dangerous even seemingly harmless situations can be, if I'm not more careful."

"Michelle," his chin lifted ever so slightly, his tone stern. "Is that ever going to happen again?"

My shoulders shook a bit as my sobs took hold, and I swiped childishly at my sniffling nose. "No, Tom. It will never happen again. I won't forget... who I am... where I am... what I stand to lose. I'm sorry, Tom. I'm so, sorry."

"Good." He gifted me with the smallest of smiles, even though he still carried a fair amount of tension in his brow, his jaw, his neck. "And you know," he held the belt up just a bit. "That this ends it, correct? Clean slate… no lingering guilt?"

I shivered ever so slightly as I nodded. "Yes, Tom."

Another small, tight smile. "What is your word, Michelle?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Iris."

"I love you, Michelle."

"I love you, too, Tom. So much."

He gestured wordlessly to the bed; with a deep shuddering sigh, I crawled into position. His fingers were quick and gentle as he buckled the cuffs in place, and he took care to adjust the pillows beneath me until I was positioned to his satisfaction: stable, comfortable, accessible. "Can you breathe all right?" He asked quietly, smoothing my hair down my back.

I drew air in deeply, held it a moment, exhaled slowly. “I can. Thank you.”

“Michelle,” the word taut, urgent. “Word?”

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard in grateful trepidation. “Iris”

I could hear the rustle of linen as he moved, stretching his arms briefly, widening his stance. I forced myself to tune out those sounds of preparation, focusing instead on the whisper of my breathing, in through my nose, out through my mouth, and the racing whoosh of my blood in my ears, trying to make myself as loose and pliable as possible.

I had just filled my lungs when the leather strap connected with my buttocks for the first time with a snapping crack that echoed in the silence of the room. The wind rushed out of me in a barking gasp at the resulting sting and lingering burn, my hands fisting the linens beneath them. I panted briefly through the pain, my eyes squeezed shut. Another harsh strike snapped them open, and I bit down on my lip to trap the sobs that bubbled across my tongue. A third blow, and I was weeping openly. “Oh, God… Tom… please. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He paused briefly, a break I knew would only last if I pushed that magic word from my lips. But as I caught my breath, as the initial shock subsided, all I could feel surging through my body was gratitude.

_You can do this, Michelle. Breathe and feel it._

I clamped my lips together and pressed my face into the mattress, a silent cue that I was ready. Tom read it perfectly, and after allowing me another deep inhale and exhale, he continued. His strong arm swung the belt in a perfect arc every time, landing the strap with precision across my buttocks, careful never to strike too high and near my back, no two blows landing in the exact same spot. Across each curve, down to the tops of my thighs, until my skin was humming with a biting hot and stinging numbness. My body jumped at every strike, the resounding clap of leather on flesh filling my ears like a mantra of hard won forgiveness. A few more blows, and my squeaking gasps melted into softer, whimpering mewls. More and my fingers went slack against the sheets as my cheek came to rest on the mattress. The belt licked across the center of my ass, and as Tom’s free hand stroked gently through my hair, the dam burst. “Thank you, Tom, I’m sorry, I love you so much. Thank you… I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” My tears rained unchecked to the bed in a dark, spreading circle, and his fingers pushed my hair aside to stroke lightly over my collar.

“I love you, Michelle, my brave, beautiful girl. I love you so much.” Another lash, and I shuddered beneath his touch. “Nearly there, love… are you with me?”

Another blow, beautifully agonizing. “I’m here, Tom,” I sobbed desperately. “I’m here… oh, God, I’m sorry…” Another strike, and another, and I was squirming against the pillows, moaning desperately as the pressure against my pelvis reminded me that I was aching for him in other ways as well. Another, to the top of my thighs, and every muscle began to quiver and quake. One more, and the word trembled on my lips.

And that’s when I heard the quiet clatter of metal as he set the belt aside on his night table, a split second before feeling his fingers at my wrists. My body seemed to float into his arms as he wound me tight against him with the blissfully soft fleece of the bedclothes and warm skin and his strong steady heartbeat beneath my ear. I wept easily against his chest as he rocked me, his hands tenderly stroking their way up and down my back, over my shoulder and arm. His lips danced against my forehead, soothing kisses and whispered praise. “There you are, little one. My beautiful Michelle, my brave little bird…”

He continued to murmur love against my skin and hair until the hurricane of emotion subsided, until I was composed enough to take long sips of cool water before winding my arm around his neck. His cock was an iron rod against my hip, and his tongue tickled gently between my lips, but we were only a heartbeat into the kiss before I knew his control was nowhere near waning. His expression was kindly resolute when we parted. “You need sleep, love,” he nuzzled my cheek. “We both do.”

I couldn’t help but pout my lip at him. “I need you.”

He grinned, sweetly amused. “You have me. And you’ll have me in the morning.”

I furrowed my brow childishly. “It is the morning.”

“You right little brat,” he laughed, drawing me into a fierce hug. I was opening my mouth to argue, but the shift of his trousers against my red and throbbing backside made me gasp sharply, tears springing reflexively to my eyes once more. “See?” He stretched his arm for the ibuprofen he had at the ready, and after I swallowed them down, he helped me lie down, tucking the pillows around me and the blankets up over me. I watched him rise to shed his shirt and step out of his trousers, sighing to myself as he snagged a pair of boxers and drew them up over his hips. He eased into bed alongside me, folding me into his arms as I snuggled into his chest. I chose to ignore his see-I-told-you-so smirk as an enormous yawn overtook me, leaving me light-headed and heavy-lidded. “I love you, Michelle. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you, Tom.” I shivered as I felt his fingers curl around my collar at the back of my neck. “I love you, and I’m sorry.”

“Shush, love.” Quiet, firm; the matter was closed. “Tell me.”

My lip quivered, but my eyes were dry. “I’m yours, Tom. Completely, utterly yours.”

Another feather-light touch of his mouth to mine. “Sleep, little one…”

The calm and comforting tide took me, swept me gently under. I drifted in the dark and the quiet for hours, and there were no shadows, no pockets of frigid undertow, only warm waves that lapped over and around me, the water the same cerulean of his eyes, the surf whispering to me in his voice.

It was a reassuring sting and burn that roused me. The midmorning sun was spilling across the floor through the open curtain, casting the room in ethereal golden light. I could feel him putting me on my back, parting my legs, and I moaned softly as everything from my navel to my knees melted into wet desire that flooded from my core in welcome. My eyes opened slowly as he moved above me, settling his body between my thighs.

His own eyes were crisp and clear; he’d been awake for some time. I could tell from his expression he’d been watching me closely, waiting, yearning. It hurt like hell to shift my sore buttocks against the mattress, but I wanted him, _needed_ him, and I could see that, although he needed me too, he would not cross the final threshold without unmistakable consent. And so I moved, spreading beneath him, opening to him in soundless offering, all the while keeping my jaw slack and my breathing steady. _Come to me, Tom_ , I willed him silently. _Take what’s yours…_

His gaze never left mine as he nudged carefully forward, his cock parting my folds and dipping into my entrance with gentle but persistent pressure. I watched the beauty of his eyes dilating as he slid into me one thick, throbbing inch at a time, slowly, reverently. I could feel the flush of my own desire pinking the skin of my cheeks, spilling down over my throat, perking my nipples to tease at his chest as he leaned over to dance his mouth over mine. Heartbeat after heartbeat, in perfect silence, he filled me, sliding home to that spot no one else had ever touched, renewing our connection entirely with one careful and calculated roll of his hips.

I held him inside me, so full of love and longing and naked, humble appreciation, as his hands caressed my jaw, his thumbs tickling at my lips to coax them to part. He explored me with his own; soft, nibbling kisses, teasing flickers of his tongue, tender nips from his teeth. His hips and ass pumped almost imperceptibly, grinding his cock against me as deeply as he could go. When he finally slipped his tongue into my mouth for me to suckle at, his palms slid down to cup my breasts, his fingers finding and tugging at my nipples until they, too, were slick and wet beneath his touch.   My head fell back on my neck and I arched up, casting aside all self-conscious reservation; his breath hitched in his chest as he lowered his mouth to one aching bud, laving it with his tongue, groping it with his lips.

His hands slid carefully under me, cupping my raw and tender buttocks to cant my body to his liking; I bit back my cries at the delicious but nearly unbearable pain until the warmth of his palms bled into my flesh, soothing me effortlessly as I slid my fingers into his hair. I held his head as he grazed his mouth from one breast to the other and back, licking, sucking, until his lips and chin and my skin glistened with the traces of my letdown. He glanced up at me, momentarily uncertain, and a rush of urgent, irrational necessity surged through me. I dragged him back up, groaning hoarsely. “Tom… let me taste myself on you…”

The look on his face a split second before our mouths collided was so indescribably beautiful I could have wept. But there was little time for me to reflect before his restraint dissipated, and by the time the faint, thin sweetness of my own body was spreading across my palate, he was gripping me tightly, groaning softly as he fucked into me, harder and harder. I lifted my hips to welcome the slapping of his body between them, our kisses open-mouthed and ravenous, my whimpers craven and coaxing. “God, Michelle,” he gasped, slightly overwhelmed and bewildered by the sudden flight of his normal steely control. “I love you… so fucking much… so fucking good… oh, little one… _Christ…”_ His hands slid up my back, one curling in my hair at my scalp, the other around my collar. “Come with me, love… please… oh, please, God, Michelle… come with me…”

“I’m here, Tom,” I reassured him breathlessly, grinding my clit into his pubic bone as the pain and the pleasure and the tug and the burn and the _deeper_ and the _harder_ and the give and the take seared through my skin into his, molding us, melding us, before casting us breathless into the canyon of color and sound and yes… yes… _Oh, God…_

Swirling blue and teasing violet, blazing red that ebbed into orange and yellow and the pounding of his heart and the ragged whisper of his breath. And it was only us, me and Tom and skin and sweat and sweet, soulful kisses.

Slowly the tide of ecstasy retreated, and he collapsed against me, his head pillowed on my chest, his slack jaw allowing his ragged breathing to whisper over me as his cock slowly softened inside me. I held him close, stroked my fingers through his damp, silky curls, traced the finally relaxed line of his brow with my lips. And after a few moments he shifted, looking up at me, drunk on sensation and relief. “Good morning, my love.”

“Good morning, _my_ love,” I parroted back, and he smiled, rising up above me and slipping his hands into my hair. His grip was gentle, angling my head to his desire so he could tenderly plunder my mouth with his own. I drew my leg up over his hip instinctively, whining quietly as the sheets chafed at my reddened backside.

“Sweet love,” he soothed, quickly moving us both onto our sides. I sighed in appreciation, stroking the stubble that peppered his jaw, as always amazed by the power of his commanding protective nature to reduce me to a shy, smitten, speechless schoolgirl, even after all our years together. He recognized my reverence for what is was, and growled playfully as he burrowed into my neck. We lay together in the golden calm until every trace of perspiration dried, every muscle twitch and spasm subsided, and the sticky sweet heat of his release began to tickle its way down my thighs. Then, finally, he spoke with a sigh. “It’s after eleven. They’ll be here soon, yes?”

“Maybe not,” I yawned as he kissed the corner of my jaw. “Emma said something about taking him to that park off their neighborhood if the sun held. Which,” I squinted as I turned my head to the window. “It looks like it has, nicely.”

“Mmm,” he nibbled at my earlobe, making me shiver. “We have time for a shower, then…”

“I don’t know,” I giggle-gasped as he sucked hungrily at the flesh where my jaw met my throat. “I think I’d like to walk around smelling like you all day. Your cologne…” His lips danced lower and I swallowed hard. “Your sweat…” He nipped at my collarbone, tugging on the skin with his teeth. “Your come… oh, God…” My eyes rolled back in my head as his lips closed around my nipple.

“Who’s to say…” His tongue flickered over the pebbled flesh of my areola. “That once I scrub you nice and clean…” A sweet, tender kiss to the tip of the swollen bud. “I can’t dirty you up again?”

I moaned luxuriously, arching, stretching, and basking in him: his heat, his touch, his adoration. “I love you, Tom.”

“Eheheheheh… then tell me, little one.”

I closed my eyes as he rose up again to breathe in the words as I exhaled them before sealing his mouth again over mine.

“I’m yours, Tom. Forever… forever… yours.”


	22. Chapter 22

“Darling, would you snag that extra charger for me, please?”

I had just finished nursing Jack and was buckling him into his swing in the corner of the bedroom when Tom made his gentle request. I couldn’t help but wince a little; he was, after all, asking for it so that he could pack it away in preparation for his departure in the morning. Three months of location filming in Croatia; it would be at least one before he’d have a break long enough to fly home. But as I pressed the buttons that would start the gentle rocking motion and play a soft lullaby, I caught sight of big blue eyes under flaxen blonde curls, mirroring my sadness back at me. Tickling one rosy cheek with a fingertip, I smiled down at my son. His face immediately responded in kind, pink gums and deep dimples on display as he cooed happily up at me.

Adjusting the neckline of my bra and blouse, I grabbed the cord from the dresser and crossed to hand it to my husband, surveying sadly the stacks of neatly folded t-shirts and jeans, the socks and ties, my favorite black sweater, his leather jacket, all spread across the bed and waiting for their spot in his rolling case or garment bag. Our fingers touched as I handed it to him, and I blinked back tears before lifting my eyes to meet his. “Oh, my love,” his brow furrowed as he tossed the charger to the mattress and pulled me into his embrace. “Let me hold you.”

I gladly buried my face in his chest, breathing in the scent of vanilla and cedarwood, the muskiness of his skin, the mellow aroma of the Earl Grey he’d been sipping. I marveled at the muscles in his back flexing beneath my palms as he tightened his arms around me. His breath was warm as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and the steady beat of his heart under my ear set the rhythm as he rocked me tenderly from side to side. We danced that way for a long moment, until his husky murmur made me shiver. “Michelle… look at me.” I lifted my head to obey, saw my own resigned regret reflected in his handsome features. “Kiss me, love…”

I rose on my tiptoes, gripping him tighter as his hands slid up to cup my face. His lips were warm and strong, his tongue soft and savory, and the rest of the world melted away as he took my breath, giving me his in return.

And then, his fucking phone.

I didn’t bother hiding my displeasure as he pulled it from his pocket, glancing down at the screen with a small, apologetic smile. “It’s Arnon, darling… I can’t not take it.”

Arnon. Executive producer _. Goddammit… you’re taking him away from me tomorrow. Can’t you let me have him tonight?_

I released him with a sigh and a scowl that didn’t subside, even after he gave my lip a gentle tug before turning to leave the room. I forced myself to tune out the conversation, not wanting to darken my foul mood any further, and instead headed into the bathroom. His travel toiletries sat assembled on the sink; with a sigh, I packed them neatly into the leather satchel, lifting the deodorant and cologne to my nose for a wistful second, drawing their scents in as deeply as I could. Finally, I zipped the bag shut and turned back to the bedroom, deliberately avoiding my own dismal reflection. As I dropped it to the bed, I noticed he’d neglected to pack the charger for his Fitbit. I rummaged through the drawer of his nightstand to find it, and when I stood straight once more, he was leaning in the doorway. He was gazing morosely down at his cellular, and I couldn’t hold back a sigh of exasperation, thinking to myself… _what now_?

“Tom…?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he lifted his eyes to look at me from beneath his brow. I was opening my mouth to ask him what _that_ look was about when he launched himself across the room, tackling me to the bed and pinning me to the mattress. “Tom!” I squealed as he tickled his fingers up and down my ribs, raining kisses all over my face and throat. “Stop! What the hell…! Oh, God, stop it… STOP IT!” His chuckle was musical as I wiggled and squirmed, wrinkling the half of his wardrobe we’d landed upon underneath me while my flailing limbs sent the other half tumbling to the floor. “Tom… I swear to God…”

His fingers finally ceased their maddening dance over my middle and instead caught my wrists, pinning them to either side of my head. “Two weeks, love!” He crushed his lips to mine before I could speak, and I couldn’t help but laugh into the enthusiasm of his kiss.

“What are you talking about?” I gasped when he finally released me.

“Location snafu,” he grinned broadly. “Something about permits not filed with the proper office, so the sites weren’t properly secured.” He pressed another loud kiss to my cheek. “Production delayed as a result.” I could feel my eyes widening, my heart lifting, as his words sank in.

“This… this means…” I chewed on my lower lip in hopeful anticipation.

“This means, my love,” he bit playfully at the tip of my nose. “That you and Sprout are stuck with me for two more weeks.”

“TOM!” I squeaked in excitement, catching him by surprise and rolling him beneath me. I straddled him happily, kissing his brow, his cheeks, his jaw, his throat. He buried his hands in my hair as I pushed up his t-shirt to continue my way over his chest and belly, catching his nipples with my teeth, dipping my tongue into his navel, nuzzling his soft golden hair. I rubbed my cheek against the solid warmth beneath his zipper, gazing up at him in adoration as he smiled down at me. “I love you,” I sighed.

“I love you,” he tugged gently at my hair until a sudden burst of chatter from the corner drew our focus. Jack began waving his hands immediately when he saw us turn our heads, and I yelped in surprise as Tom sat up and tumbled us both to the floor. “And I love you!” He growled as he crawled across the carpet while the baby screeched giggles at his approach. Tom plucked him easily from the swing and lay back on his back, holding Jack aloft above him as I snuggled against his side. We played on the floor for over an hour, until our little one’s eyes were glassy and heavy-lidded and his rosebud mouth stretched wide in yawn after yawn. Tom rose, holding him in one arm and offering a hand to help me to my feet. “I’ll go put him down.”

I nodded, stretching and glancing over at the bed. “I’ll take care of that mess…”

I was only too happy to collect up the scattered clothes and return them to his dresser and closet. As I worked, I listened to my husband’s voice through the baby monitor, weaving a story of a wise and wonderful king, his brave and beautiful queen, and the kind and magical fairy that made their kingdom complete when she delivered to them the golden-haired prince of their dreams. Every word wrapped around my heart, warming me from the inside out and filling me with the same desire that never seemed to cool, never seemed to lose its aching edge, no matter how many years I spent at his side, no matter how many times he touched me. And as the story went on, as I pictured the milk in the bottle disappearing and the little eyes drifting shut, as I listened to the sound of the diaper change and the little body coming to rest against the mattress of the crib, I made my preparations.

He returned to find the bedroom lights off, the curtains opened wide, the bed turned down. He found me kneeling in the center, eyes cast down, wearing only my skin and the cuffs at my wrists. He came to me, bound me carefully, bared his body to me inch by glorious inch. And in the moonlit quiet he took me, marked me, made love to me, his hands in my hair, his breath in my mouth, my name on his lips.

“My sweet Michelle…”

A quiet, few days at home; long, lazy hours spent lounging in our pajamas, feeding and playing with the baby in our bed while Mickey and friends danced on TV and the world outside moved happily along without us. I knew it wouldn’t last forever, though, and sure enough, as I rinsed our Thursday night dinner dishes in the sink, Tom called to me from the living room where he sat nested in the corner of the sofa with Jack in the bouncy seat at his side. “Darling! The cherry blossoms are in bloom at Regent’s Park!”

I giggled softly to myself. “Really?”

“What do you say, love? Tomorrow? We could call mum, meet at Greenberry’s for lunch after we swing by Hodell…”

Grinning and drying my hands on a tea towel, I walked to the living room to find him scrolling pictures on his laptop. “I thought Michael said you could print the signature pages from email and just fax them in.”

“Oh, love, production’s already been stalled because of one paperwork mishap.” He rubbed absently at my arms as I wound them around his neck, leaning over behind him. “I know it’s a bit inconvenient to run in, but we have to market anyway, and I just want to make certain I’ve done what I can to keep things on track.”

“You,” I chided gently, nibbling on his ear. “Just want to run in so you can show off your boy.”

Tom beamed down at Jack, who was happily banging his plastic teether on the tray of his chair as he sing-songed a steady stream of “ba-ba-ba-ba” to the penguin tucked haphazardly at his side. “Guilty,” he admitted, tugging at a lock of my hair that had fallen over his shoulder. “But I want to show off my beautiful wife as well.”

“Oh, Sir,” I sighed, burying my nose in his silky curls. “You flatter me so.” He took my hand and guided me around the arm of the sofa and into his lap; I lounged agreeably against him as he scrolled through more pictures, planning the perfect family outing in his activity-starved brain. I dozed with my head on his chest as he called his mother, his sisters, inviting them to join us for as much or as little of the day as they’d like. And then it was time to climb the stairs once more, to put the boy in the tub and soothe him with lavender baby soap before tucking him to my breast in the rocker in his room. Tom was already asleep by the time I turned out the lights; I didn’t mind at all, sliding my naked body against his under the covers. His arms closed around me as they always did, and he mumbled a fuzzy “love you” into the top of my head as I pillowed my cheek on his chest.

He was gone on his morning run when I awoke, and I laughed out loud when I saw, from the empty crib, that he had taken Jack with him. I enjoyed a quiet cup of coffee before heading into the shower, and was plaiting my wet hair at the sink when they appeared in the doorway, bright-eyed and rosy cheeked. Tom stripped both of them before stepping under the spray; I dressed quickly so that I could take Jack when he was clean to allow Tom to scrub himself down as well. He was wide awake and wriggling as I wrangled him into the green fleece sleeper Diana had brought over the week before, and even though the doctor said it would probably take another month, I was convinced the kid was only a breath away from rolling himself right off the changing table and onto the floor.

I was bent over the carseat, buckling him in, when Tom’s warm palm caressed its way over the curve of my ass. “My little one,” he purred softly. “I do love you in a pair of tight-fitting jeans.”

Tom had never been extremely strict when it came to the rules of my wardrobe. He was not a fan of tights or pantyhose, and that was absolutely fine by me. The belts and suspenders and stockings had taken some getting used to in the beginning, but I had to admit they were a brilliant choice – not only did they leave the body he knew was his more accessible to him, but they always made me feel soft, feminine, and sexy in a secret way only he could share with me. He would let me wear heels, although I knew he preferred flats, reveling in the foot he held over me. And it was only the rare occasion that he would instruct me to leave my panties behind, but I knew well enough that my leaving the house with them on in no way meant I would return that way.

I’m sure that every time I appear in public in a dress or a skirt people who really bear our dynamic in mind assume it’s by Tom’s instruction. And it’s true that every once in a while he will go as far as selecting my outfit for me. But, more often than not, if I’m wearing a skirt, it’s by my choice. Yes, my body belongs to Tom, and yes, that means he can touch it in any way he likes, in any place he likes, at any time he likes. But it’s not like he can simply reach down and pull up my hem at a moment’s notice if we’re in public. He has to be a little more careful, a little more discreet, a little more creative.

Jeans, on the other hand? Jeans are pretty straightforward. And it didn’t take Tom very long at all to figure out that one strong finger hooked into the belt loop at the center of my back could wreak a hell of a lot of havoc. At first, I thought it was cute, as I’m sure everyone else does now, him choosing such a way to hang onto me. But the right kind of tug, with the right amount of strength at just the right angle rubs the seam of my fly against my clit just enough to make it swell and throb and leave me wet and weak in the knees. So Tom never minds if I choose my Levi’s for a casual outing, and he actually seemed quite thrilled with it this day in particular.

“I’ve been a good girl,” I whined prettily as I stood straight, trying not to shiver beneath the heat of his body so close to mine, the brush of his hips against my buttocks. “Is a bit of mercy too much to ask?”

He smiled magnanimously, kissing the tip of my nose. “We shall see…”

Our first stop of the day was Tom’s manager’s office; the new film’s temporary furlough may have gifted me with the peace of having my husband home for longer than expected, but it apparently caused an avalanche of red tape for everyone else, and there was a mountain of revised paperwork to be managed. Tom was brisk and efficient as he loaded Jack into the stroller for me, and swelled with pride as everyone from the security officer to the passing executives to the young woman working reception knelt in front of it to gush over our adorable son. But we were barely inside the elevator for the rise to Michael’s office before that troublemaking hand found its way to the small of my back, two fingers winding through that small loop of denim. I bit my lip, refusing to look at him; he chuckled softly, brushing a gentle kiss to my temple.

His grip just hovered there, a playful storm waiting to break, as we rode the three floors up, as we walked down the hall, as we turned into the receiving area where Luke was already waiting for us. I thought sure he’d release me when he shook the man’s hand, or at least when I crossed to give him a hug. He didn’t though, neither pulling nor releasing, just holding on, a gentle reminder that I was his to play with however he wished. It wasn’t until Michael stepped out to greet us that he tightened his grip, pulling the seam between my legs taut against my own and making my breath hitch ever so slightly in my throat. My cheeks were burning as I accepted Michael’s perfunctory kiss and hand squeeze, and I shot Tom a glare when the man released me to kneel for a better look at the baby. He smiled at me sweetly, but his grip shifted ever so slightly, bringing pressure to bear steadily on my clit until it was all I could do not to roll my hips to heighten the sensation.

He didn’t let up until we had followed his manager into his office and taken our seats at his desk, and the bastard did an excellent job of acting completely indifferent to the tension in my gait. But the shadow of a smirk that ghosted over his lips was not lost on me, nor was the way he inhaled deeply through his nose as we sank into our chairs. Wordless, perhaps, but the sentiment clear, at least to me… _I can smell how much you want me_ …

Thankfully there was paperwork to occupy the men and a bottle to occupy Jack. I couldn’t help but smile every time Luke passed us as he collected the contracts and sorted out Tom’s copies, his fingers always pausing almost absently to stroke the baby’s curls or catch one chubby, waving hand. Finally, paperwork signed, schedules reviewed, and we were rising to take our leave. Tom continued his chatter with his associates, but those fingers still found me as I secured Jack back into the stroller. At least, in this position, I could growl my frustration openly and look like the spirited mother playing with her son and not the sexually hungry sub my Dom was reducing me to with just the tiniest twitch of his wrist.

We were just to the door when Tom thumped his forehead as if he’d forgotten something. “Michael… so sorry, sir, but I’ve got to make a call…”

“Oh, no problem, Tom, no problem.” Michael shook his hand firmly. “Staff meeting in the conference room… you stay here. Take all the time you need.” He kissed my cheek and tickled Jack under the chin while Luke and Tom exchanged a few brief words of goodbye, and then Luke was hugging me before both men took their leave, closing the door behind them.

“So,” I looked at him, puzzled as he crossed to stand toe to toe with me. “What call?”

“Oh,” he sniffed adorably. “That was just the means to get them to leave,” he grinned.

I blanched at the mischief in his eyes. “Tom… you’re not serious…”

He affected pure innocence. “I haven’t said anything, love.”

“Tom!” I hissed through clenched teeth. “We cannot have sex in your manager’s office!”

“Oooh, little bird,” he stroked a finger down my cheek. “What a filthy mind you have.” He chuckled at my visible relief. “No, love, we are not going to have sex in my manager’s office.”

Relief quickly returned to confusion. “Then why...?”

His expression turned playfully stern. “Someone needs a change.”

My gaze immediately lowered to Jack, who stared right back up at me, happily gnawing on Squeaker’s plastic beak. “Are you sure?” I knelt to check his diaper, and found it fairly dry. “It looks all right to me…” The words died in my throat when I looked up at Tom once more, standing tall and regal, fire in his stare, casually twirling a wisp of lace and silk around one finger. “Oh, my God…”

As I gaped, he caught the fabric with his other hand, putting the panties on better display. I had to admit, they were stunningly pretty. The fine purple lace was cut short; I could tell at a glance it would barely cover me in the front, let alone the back. The swells of my ass would be largely on display underneath the crisscrossing lines of ribbon, but only if I somehow managed to cinch them into a bow or a knot. “Tom,” I swallowed audibly. “They’re gorgeous. But… here?”

“Right here,” he nodded, his voice velvety soft but full of command. “Right now.”

I glanced at the narrow window beside the office door. “Tom…”

“Sweetheart,” he caressed my cheek lovingly with the soft fabric. “Do you think it’s wise to waste time whining at me?” He lowered himself slowly in front of me, catching the ends of the ribbon in his fingers. “Come along now… don’t make me wait.”

He let me hold onto his shoulders for balance as I stepped out of my boots, and his gaze was glued to my belly as I unbuttoned and unzipped my fly. “Both together,” he instructed softly, and I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my jeans and my panties to obey. He brushed a warm kiss to my waxed mound, making me shudder, and then his hands on my waist were turning me, his short, soft beard tickling over my skin. The tip of his nose grazed the base of my spine, his breath was warm over the curve of my hips. And then he was guiding me into the new lingerie, pulling it up to cover what little it could. His fingertips tickled over me as he tied the ribbon in place, and I could hear his sharp inhale when he sat back to inspect his purchase. “Fucking beautiful,” he whispered before rising. He turned me once more and pulled me flush against him, his mouth seeking mine. And as his tongue flickered its way between my lips, his hands cupped my buttocks, and I could feel his little finger brush teasingly against the tight ring of muscle between them. I was ready to swoon in his arms when he finally released me with a satisfied smirk.

“Put your jeans back on, love. Our day’s just begun…”

Again I refused to look at him in the elevator. Again, he cared not a whit, chuckling into my ear as he pulled tight, as my eyes slid shut and the tiniest of moans escaped my traitor throat. “It’s a good thing we’re on our way to lunch, love,” he purred against my skin. “You look like you… need a bit of something…”

Some people in my predicament would be utterly relieved to see their mother and sisters-in-law waiting for them at their lunch table. Those people are not married to Tom. How I managed to cross from the front door of the café to the seat they saved for me on my watery knees eludes me as much as how Tom could concentrate on safely carrying Jack in his arms while keeping pace with my subtle torment. He handed the baby off to Sarah with smooth grace then pulled my chair without missing a beat, keeping the line of friction between my legs firmly in place as I sat down with a tight smile. I savored a brief moment of relief, pressing my legs together as he hugged and kissed his mother. But as soon as he sank into his spot next to me, his large hand came to rest on my thigh, his strong fingers pressing against me in warning. I shifted my crossed legs with a quick pout, putting the necessary space between them to satisfy him. He smiled at me, and I could hear the “good girl” as surely as if it had passed his lips.

Emma was sulking into Jack’s curls as we placed our order, and I nudged her leg under the table as the waiter made his departure. “How much longer?” I asked when she lifted her eyes to mine.

“Two and a half weeks,” she mumbled, kissing absently at the palm the infant waved in front of her mouth.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I commiserated as Tom squeezed my leg affectionately. “I feel your pain, believe me…”

“Oh, listen to the two of you,” Sarah teased gently. “Sounding like a couple of old war widows.”

“Shut up,” Emma nudged at her sister with a frown.

“What?” Sarah wound an arm around her shoulders. “All I am saying… I know you miss him, and I know it’s not a picnic. But he’s just across the pond, shooting a movie, for pity’s sake. It’s not like he’s in the trenches of war-torn Afghanistan…”

“Now, Sarah,” Diana tutted softly, dropping a hinting nod in my and Tom’s direction. “Distance is distance.”

Sarah’s glance shifted to her brother, who squeezed my leg again as he nodded. “Mum’s right, Sar. It could be worse circumstances, but…” He turned to me, and I could see my own thoughts reflected in his eyes.

_It’s going to be us, soon. Hell, it should be us now._

I tilted my head, silently offering my mouth. He accepted, his free hand winding around to caress my jaw as we kissed.

Lunch was both delicious and delightful, and we managed to pull Emma out of her funk, even before the phone call from Chris lit her up like a Christmas tree. We lingered at the table so Sarah could give Jack his bottle, and I watched Tom with the hazy eyes of a schoolgirl as he slung the diaper bag over his shoulder and carried the boy off for a change. I slid into his chair to cuddle close to Diana for a moment, making sure all my latest pictures of her boys were transferred from my phone to hers. “You do know, dear,” she toyed maternally with my braid. “My door is always open, and you and little Jack are always welcome.”

“Diana,” I sighed, leaning into her shoulder even as I flushed beneath her affection. “I might just take you up on that this time…”

We said our goodbyes at the café door before the other Hiddleston women departed to attend to other appointments and plans, a flurry of hugs and kisses and “call you tomorrow”. A short while later, we were walking side by side through the early afternoon cool at the London Zoo, Jack babbling happily from the stroller. We smiled at the other families that passed by, and I rose on tiptoe to murmur briefly in Tom’s ear. “See that? Some husbands hold their wives’ hands…”

He looked down at me with a warm grin, nuzzling the tip of his nose to my cheek. “I hold your hands plenty, my love.” He gave my waistline a sharp tug, making me gasp at the friction. “Be a good girl, and I’ll hold them again… later…”

“God, I hate you,” I breathed against his lips before melting beneath his kiss.

The polar bears, the giraffes, the lions and the tigers, Jack regarded them all with the same happy confusion prompted more by my and Tom’s enthusiasm than the animals themselves. He did love the penguin tank, though, and poor Squeaker took quite a beating as Jack banged the soft plush excitedly against the glass while he watched the black and white birds glide by in the water. We laughed at his fascination with his first taste of a slush, and took turns cleaning his face as he chomped ecstatically on biscuit after biscuit. “Wow, darling… his gums are really swollen,” Tom remarked after one pass with a clean wipe.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I scoffed gently. “He gnaws as much as he nurses lately.”

“Aw, my poor loves.” With his body between mine and the main thoroughfare, he had all the privacy he needed to briefly cup my breasts in his hands, stroking his thumbs over my suddenly hard nipples. A quick kiss to my lips and he was on his feet again. “Elephants next, yes?”

The rest of the afternoon passed in a cool, fragrant haze as we finished our trek through the zoo, then strolled the rest of the park to take in the beauty of the blossoming cherry trees, losing Jack to sleep somewhere along the way. By the time we were finished at market, he was arching and whining to escape his carseat, just as I was squirming and biting my lip in frustration at Tom’s incessant and infuriatingly absent-minded teasing. Even his sweet kiss to my cheek as he sent me to the recliner – “Nurse him, love, I’ve got dinner…” – was accompanied by a firm tug at the back of my jeans, making my body sing briefly in delight then scream in resentment as he released me and headed for the kitchen. Even the baby seemed to sense my anxiety, his little body wriggling as he rooted impatiently against me. I tried to lose myself in him the way I always did, his golden blonde curls, his bright curious eyes. But all I could see when I looked at him were the features he shared with his father, and the ache inside me chewed that much deeper.

He was in giggly good spirits when I tucked him into his chair, dropping a handful of tiny banana slices on his tray for him to gum while I helped Tom put our meal on the table. He babbled animatedly into his handss as we ate, getting his face wonderfully messy, even as he offered his sticky fingers to us to taste. He was still playing in the mush when our plates were empty, and I glanced at Tom with a grin. “Looks like somebody is going into the sink before the dishes.”

I had his bath nearly finished when Tom sidled up behind me, towel in hand. I felt him nudge my braid aside, his mouth ghosting against my neck as his hips nudged firmly against my ass. _Jesus, Tom, can’t you see I’m TRYING to hurry_ , I thought to myself, sidestepping him in an attempt to get my message across. I felt him shift behind me, and when I looked up at him, his eyebrow was cocked in a kind of surprised fascination. He didn’t say a word, simply spread the towel over his outstretched arms, and I placed the yawning infant into them. He tucked the bundle against his chest to carry him upstairs, and I threw myself into the final chore of the evening. Dishes done, kitchen clean, I hurried through the downstairs, shutting lights and locking doors, determined to meet Tom at the nursery door and entice him to our bedroom.

He was faster than I was, however, already on his way down the stairs as I started my climb. We met each other halfway, our eyes locking above his cool, knowing grin. I gripped the bannister in my fingers until my knuckles blanched, waiting for him to move, to speak. He didn’t; he simply stood, two steps above me, gazing down on me with the same calm command he’d exuded all day. I might have held out better, longer, had I been staring down anyone else. But Tom knew me, inside and out, better than anyone ever had. Better than I knew myself. In the end, all it took to snap the final gossamer thread of my strained self-control was the tiniest flicker of his tongue, slow, deliberate, over his bottom lip.

And I lunged.


	23. Chapter 23

His breath left him in a grunt as my weight pinned him to the wall; I could taste its warm sweetness as I crushed my mouth to his. His hands grabbed at my hips as my fingers plunged into his curls, yanking him closer as I licked at him hungrily with my tongue. He nipped at it briskly, a clear challenge for me to pull away; I merely responded in kind, biting down on his lower lip. His chuckle warmed my skin, even as it sparked my ire, and I pushed roughly against him, kissing him deeper as I lifted my leg over his hip. I could feel him, long and hard beneath his zipper, and I rolled the heat of my core against him, letting him feel the damp fire he’d been stoking himself all day. I continued to eat greedily at his mouth, groping frantically at the buttons of his shirt. Of course, in my impatience, I had little success in freeing more than one or two from their holes, and I growled my frustration against him as he laughed.

“A little eager are we, darling?” He grinned, eyes dancing with self-satisfied mirth. I gave him a brief scowl, then fisted his lapels and yanked as hard as I could. The muted clicking of buttons hitting the hardwood floor prickled goosebumps over my skin, as did his musical gasp of surprise. But the heat in his glower sent a flush of fire spilling through my belly and he barely had time to grumble – “Now, that’s not very nice; I really like this shirt…” – before I was devouring his mouth once more, palming over his chest and shoulders to sweep the accursed linen out of the way. He made no move to help me, forcing me to release him so I could yank the rolled cuffs from his wrists. But once the fabric had fallen to the floor, he grabbed my neck, dragging me back into the kiss.

I drank from him ravenously until my senses reeled, until the floor seemed to shift beneath my feet and my skin burned from the inside out. Drunk on need and rarely held control, I tore myself away from him to drag my own blouse over my head, giggling as I watched his brow furrowing in irritation. “Now how come mine goes the way of destruction, but yours…?”

“Jesus, Hiddleston,” I snarled, pinning his body to the wall once more and rubbing my lace-covered breasts against him. “Shut up.”

He groaned softly, his hands groping at my ass as our mouths crashed together, again and again, lips and teeth and tongues and breath and desperation. I reached between our bodies to unclasp my bra, and I took another sip of power when the brush of my hard, wet nipples against his chest made him shudder. I wound my arms around him and molded my body to his, pushing, grinding, writhing, teasing.

His eyes were hazy when I pulled back at last, his head hitting the wall behind him as I began to wrestle with his belt. “Fuck… horny little minx…” I delighted in the almost imperceptible note of hunger in his voice, the way he arched into my hand as I slid it down the front of his jeans. He met my fingers, hot, hard and throbbing, and I bit my lower lip as his eyes slid shut at the contact. I squeezed gently at his crown, milking a warm drop of precum from his slit and catching it with my thumb. His gaze burned through me as he watched me lift my hand slowly to my lips, watched the tip of my tongue coax the fluid from my skin. He leaned forward to taste himself in my mouth but I ducked away, backing up until I felt the banister against my hips. A flash of blue lusty challenge from his eyes and I smiled sweetly, my fingertips toying briefly with my nipples on their way to my own waistband. “Michelle…” He growled in warning.

“Tom,” I purred softly. “Don’t you want to see my pretty new panties?” I flipped the snap of my fly open and tugged, parting the zipper with slow, teasing deliberation. His eyes were glued to the growing vee of skin, and when the tiniest hint of lace appeared at the point, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Spinning on my toes, I bent slightly at the waist, canting the curves of my ass back towards him as I slid my jeans down, offering a suggestive little wiggle before stepping out of them entirely. His hands slithered over my hips to pull me back; I shivered at the rub of denim, silk, and lace as he rolled against me.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he breathed, sliding his palms over the ribbons that latticed my backside, up over the bare skin of my back, and down again. His touch dipped down between the lines of silk and lace, his thumbs insistently nudging the curves of my ass apart. I swallowed hard, then turned again, smiling at the breeze of irritation that passed over his features. His hands caught my neck once more, tugging me toward him, but I covered them with my own, tangling my fingers through his and pulling them away. He was opening his mouth to speak when I moved once more, falling to my knees in front of him and yanking his pants down with one swift tug. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed as I dove, taking the full length of his cock in my mouth in one smooth motion, fluttering my tongue against the thick ridge that ran the length of the underside. “Michelle…”

I hummed against him before hollowing my cheeks, bobbing my head as my watering mouth slickened his length, helping it glide easily between my lips. I fluttered my lashes at him, giggling silently as he hitched in a ragged breath. He reached for my hair, winding the length of my braid around his fist, and I let my jaw go slack as he held my head still for a few rapid thrusts of his hips. “Fuck, darling,” his tone carried the tiniest hint of a plea. “Don’t stop sucking… God… let me feel it…” I teased him carefully, drawing with little bursts of strength here and there, nowhere near the pull I knew he was craving, swirling my tongue around him as he grunted in need. I couldn’t help but bask in the moment; I’d been at his mercy the entire day – hell, our entire relationship – and it felt intoxicatingly good to hold the reins so directly for once. I put my hands on his hips and shoved him back against the wall, working my mouth over him at my leisure. I would slip him almost completely out, groping his head with my lips as I dipped the tip of my tongue into his leaking slit, until I could hear him panting in tandem. Then I would draw him deep, taking him into my throat and pressing against him so he could nudge desperately against my chin. Then I would release him with a wet pop and mouth my way down, licking and sucking playfully at his balls, his perineum, down and over and up and back, until every inch of his skin glistened with my saliva.

Above me, I watched the struggle etched into his brow, his tightly closed eyes, the clenched corners of his jaw. Clearly, part of him wanted to grab my head and mercilessly fuck my face until he was spilling, hot and heavy, down my throat. But I could see a curious ecstasy caressing its way over his features every now and again as I took the slack to run, as if he were finding surprising pleasure in my having my way with him. It was heady, inebriating, and I gorged myself on the delicacy of the control, the power I’d never wielded before. I moaned out my delight as I devoured him, lapping at his shaft and crown, sucking at his balls, swallowing his head into my throat again and again. He writhed against my hands once, twice; I dragged my nails carefully over his skin before pushing back at him until he was pressed against the wall once more. “Fuck,” he muttered, low and gravelly.   The quivering flesh of my sex swelled and throbbed at the sound, the lace of my panties chafing wetly against my folds. Closing one hand around the base of his shaft to milk him into my mouth, I slipped the fingers of the other between my legs, hoping I could match his release with my own.

“Now, love…”

My eyes popped open, shocked by the calm, cool, and utterly collected lilt to his voice. He was indeed grinning down at me, shaking his head ever so slightly.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to touch my sweet little cunt.”

Every ounce of strength I had melted into the floor as I realized just how efficiently I’d been played. He took a moment to bask in the glory of his deception before hauling me effortlessly to my feet. “Silly little bird,” he cooed, nipping briskly at my trembling bottom lip. “When are you going to learn?” He kissed me, sweet and savage, before spinning me around, pinning my wrists at the small of my back. “There. Is. No. Topping. Me.”

I squeaked helplessly, torn between disappointment and elation. And then his hand slipped into my hair, and with careful, brutal efficiency, he shoved me face down onto the stairs. The plush carpet runner was soft and cool against my cheek, stark contrast to the heat he stirred in my buttocks with a few quick, efficient smacks. “I will admit,” his voice was smooth and soothing as he reached between ribbon and lace to slip one finger into the slick, scalding depths of my cunt. “It is so much fun to watch you play.” He prodded my g-spot roughly until I cried out, only to withdraw and smack my ass once more. “The impish little light in your eyes…” He probed me again, deep, rhythmic thrusts. “The stubborn little jut of your chin…” He withdrew, and I moaned whorishly as he pressed the dripping digit into the tightly drawn entrance of my ass. “But we both know your place, my love.” He yanked my head back, the stubble of his jaw scraping against my cheek as he fingered me. “The place you truly crave, the place you find your deepest happiness.” Another finger slipped into my cunt, and I couldn’t stop myself from rutting back against his hand. “It’s right here,” he spoke softly, but directly into my ear, drowning all other sound from my brain. “Beneath my touch… under my control… following as I lead… giving as I take.”

He pulled his hand away and I sobbed at the overwhelming emptiness, even as I felt his thighs against mine, his hips against my buttocks, his cock nestled in the cleft between. His grip in my hair tightened as he pushed the fingers that had been inside me into my mouth. “Do you want to be taken, my love?” I nodded frantically as I sucked hungrily, scraping his flesh gently with my teeth. “Do you _need_ to be taken?” He pulled free from my mouth, a silent demand for a real answer.

“Yes, Tom, please…” I begged breathlessly. “I’ve needed it all day.”

“Eheheheheh,” velvet in my ear, a chase kiss to my temple. “Then you should be more than ready to take it… all… night…”

I expected a harsh, vicious thrust. So his agonizingly slow penetration only served to make me drop my head to my forearm, every muscle trembling, my teeth closing on my own skin. He gave me only a moment before yanking me back by my hair. “You said you needed it, little one,” he teased. “You’ll keep your head up and take it with thanks.”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” I gasped, shuddering as he edged deeper and deeper. “Thank you… oh, God, thank you…”

“That’s my girl.” He nudged forward, seating his full length inside me, his palm smoothing over the curve of my hip. “Tell me what you feel.”

I whimpered softly, closing my eyes. “Your cock in my pussy.”

“Mmhmm,” a quick jab from his hips. “And what else?”

“Your hand in my hair.”

He chuckled, pleased, giving my scalp a gentle tug. “Do you like it when I pull your hair, love?”

Not thinking, I nodded, squealing when his grip reminded me he expected more of an answer. “Yes!” I gulped, arching back into his hand. “Yes, Tom. I love it when you pull my hair.”

He gifted me with a few smooth, fluid rolls of his body, sliding deliciously out and in, out and in again. I was just losing myself in the ebb and flow when he tugged me back to clarity. “Why?”

“Wh-what?”

He used his hold on my head to draw me up, flush against him, so he could purr in my ear. “Why do you love it when I pull your hair?”

I was just opening my mouth to try and answer when his other hand slid down my belly, under the lace of my panties to cup my sex above his lazily thrusting cock. I whimpered softly, pushing reflexively into his touch, then squeaked in shocked delight at he slapped lightly at my wet, swollen clit. “I asked you a question, Michelle. Twice, actually.” Another teasing smack, and I wriggled desperately against him.

“Because it reminds me I’m yours!” I barked hastily.

“Eheheheh.” His teeth tugged briefly at my collar. “Excellent answer.”

With that, he shoved my head back down to the stairs before gripping my hips tightly. “Mine,” he murmured, a tender taunt, as he fucked into me again, slow, hard. “All mine. Mine to use and tease and play with however I choose.” He pulled me back to him as he slid forward, pushing moan after wanton moan from my lips. He spent long moments working himself inside me, pressing deep, grinding for a heartbeat or two, then easing back, letting the clench of my body so desperate to keep him milk his length from base to crown.

It wasn't long before I was sweating, shaking beneath him, my hands clasped at the small of my back, even though he made no move to restrain me. Finally, the warmth of his body sank into my skin as he lay his chest against my back, his arms circling me, his hands cupping and squeezing my breasts. "Oh, my little one," his voice breathy in my ear.  "How badly does that aching little pussy want to come right now?"

"Oh, God, Tom, please," I babbled helplessly as his fingers lightly tweaked my nipples.  "So badly... I want to come so badly.  Please, please... May I come for you?"

His laughter was warm and rich in my ear, and his kiss on my cheek was affectionate and amused. "Some things you have learned well, haven't you, little bird? You're playing the game, and you don't even know you're playing it." With that, he pulled out of me, leaving me limp and shocked and huddled on the stairs. "You know I'm nowhere near finished with you, love." The fluid my body had poured out around him was slick on his cock as he rolled me carefully to face him. The rigid circle of his fingers slid wetly over his shaft as he stroked himself in front of me. "Spread those legs, lovely, and open that sassy little mouth for me."

I scrambled to obey him, putting myself on display as best I could with what little strength I had left. His knee came to rest on the step above my head, and as he traced the tip of his cock around my lips, his fingers slipped between my plump, swollen folds to find my clit. I closed my eyes with a shudder as he began to tug and twist, only to snap them open when he swatted me briskly.

"Look at me, love, I want to see how much you want it."

I fixed my eyes on his, open, clear, pleading, my mouth open, my tongue flickering out to coax him closer. His hand left his cock to caress softly over my hair, coming to rest at the back of my head. "Beg, little one."

I had to bite back my smile, knowing any amount of cheek would only come back to bite me, and sooner than I might like. I pouted my lip out as adorably as I could. "Please Tom... Please let me have your cock."

"Really?" He sniffed, less than impressed. The hand between my legs moved to his shaft, his crown pushing through the vee of his fingers as he stroked. "So hungry for it earlier, so hasty, so impatient. And now... really? That's the best you can manage?"

It was all I could do to not narrow my eyes and launch daggers his direction. "Please, Tom," I mewled sweetly. "I'm so, so sorry I was impatient. Please forgive me. Please? Let me suck your cock. Let me feel you against my tongue, sliding between my lips." I used the first to slick up the second in an attempt to entice him closer. "Please?"

His eyes danced with laughter as his hand behind my head drew me to him. "Better," he grinned as I nuzzled his shaft, tenderly kissing his balls. "Open."

I pushed out my tongue as he took my mouth, pleading with my eyes as his fingers returned to my clit. My hips rose up in response to his touch and I spread my legs wider to offer him more. He chuckled warmly, but the contact never shifted. Open and aching, all I could do was twist reflexively as he plucked and pulled, almost absently, at the swollen little bud. His other hand nudged and guided firmly as he fucked my mouth, deeper and deeper, until I couldn't imagine his control was holding by much more than a thread. But each time I prepared to swallow around him, eager to feel the urgency in his touch between my legs carrying me over the edge as well, he'd pull free from me with a breathy sigh..Backing us both down, he’d leave me quivering and quaking, with a new understanding of just how easy he'd gone on me all day.

I was stiff and a little bit sore when he finally slipped two fingers up inside me, rubbing generously against my g-spot. "Oh, God, Tom... Thank you..." I moaned gratefully, my body curling around his touch. “Thank you so much…”

"Ah ah ah," he tutted with a brisk yank to my hair.  "Open."

I spread my legs again, then parted my lips to welcome his kiss, thankful for the gentle sweeps of his tongue against mine. "Fuck my fingers, love," he murmured into my mouth. "Let me feel that wet, grasping little cunt."

I exhaled a shuddering moan, bucking my hips into his hand, leaning into his lips and kissing him weakly, again and again. Slowly, the twisting strands of ecstasy that had been tickling through my belly all day and all night begin to coil tightly behind my navel. I pushed against his hand, eager, hungry, and unashamed. He deepened the kiss, sucking the air from my lungs. And when he finally tore his mouth from mine, he pressed it to my ear.

"Tell me, Michelle... Tell me you're close..."

"Oh, God, Tom!" I cried out hoarsely.  "Yes! I'm so close..."

"Yes?"

"Yes! God, yes... I'm going to come... Oh, fuck... Feels so good! Yes... Yes, Tom... I'm going to come..." His fingertips against my g-spot, the heel of his hand edging towards my clit, and the heat of his breath dancing over my skin.

"Oh, my love," he whispered softly. And pulled his hand away.

"That?” He nipped lightly at my neck. “Is for my shirt."

My scream of frustration was quickly smothered by his hand, his laughter gentle and soothing in my ear as I crumbled limply against him. "My sweet little one," he teased, kissing my cheek. "Surely you didn't think you would get off so easily?"

"Easily?" I rasped, tears slipping from my eyes.  "Easily??" He cuddled me against him as I muttered my displeasure into his throat before finally rising and helping me to stand. He wiped the tears from my cheeks before lifting me carefully into his arms, the head of his cock brushing against my buttocks, reminding me I wasn't the only one still waiting for release. I shivered at the thought as he carried me into the bedroom and lay me carefully on the bed.

He turned me onto my stomach before cuffing my wrists above my head, and I moaned softly in anticipation as he disappeared into the closet. After he returned, it only took a moment for him to slip my panties down and off, then buckle the spreader bar in place. He pushed my knees forward as far as they would go before spreading my labia wide with his thumbs. His tongue was warm and wicked as it teased its way over every dripping petal of my cunt, probing lightly at my throbbing clit before dancing to the bottom of my slit once more.

"Tom..." I whined childishly

He pressed a gentle kiss to the curve of my ass. "Do you have a word for me, love?"

I pondered, but only for a heartbeat. "No."

"Then shut the fuck up and keep that pretty little head down."

I sniffled a bit, but once he was certain my lips were sealed, he buried his mouth in my wetness once more, suckling softly at my folds before sliding his tongue into me as deeply as he could. Breathing steady, I did my best to give myself over to him, accepting what he gave in the measure he gave it. As I surrendered to him, my body melting lax and limp beneath his efforts, his own excitement ratcheted higher and higher, his hands grabbing me to pull me closer. “There’s my girl,” he kissed the base of my spine as he slid his fingers back up inside me, stroking, stretching. “My sweet little slut… so open and ready…”

He moved to his knees behind me, and I sobbed quietly in exquisite relief as he filled me, slow and smooth, arching his back to press in to the hilt, his pubic bone against my ass, his balls brushing teasingly against my clit. I fought the urge to press back against him, knowing he’d only retreat and continue my torment. My utter surrender was all that he wanted, and as I slipped deeper into the space he’d worked so hard to prepare for me, I knew he was right – it was here, and only here, that I found the blissful fulfillment my mind and body craved in equal measure. And as he began to roll his cock in delicious, measured thrusts, as his mouth danced moist heat along the line of my shoulder, as one long, strong finger slipped carefully into my ass, the ocean of sensation within me surged. His other hand slid gently around my throat, lifting my head, turning my face to his. His lips against mine, my flavor on his skin, his voice in my mouth. “There you are… there you are… oh, fucking Christ, Michelle.” One long, hungry kiss, power and possession. “Come for me, little one… let go and come for me.”

Those words, and the spark that had been burning its way along the fuse inside my body finally met the source, and I convulsed in his arms in the wake of the explosion. His grip on me tightened, viselike, refusing to allow me to wriggle away, forcing me to experience every last twinge and spasm to its fullest. My throat locked against the screams that battered up from my chest; it was only Tom’s voice in the room, in my ear, in my head. Strained as he spilled his own culmination inside me, yet still so soft, so soothing, so sublime. “That’s it… that’s it. Good girl… oh, yes… my good, sweet girl…” One final swell, and I was drifting, boneless, my eyes rolled back in my head, my lips groping weakly at his cheek.

I floated lazily on the ebbing tide as his perspiration dripped from his brow onto my cheek, moaning in quiet protest when he rose up to free my arms and legs. “Can’t stay this way all night, love,” he rubbed tenderly at my wrists and ankles, pulling back the linens and nudging me beneath them. I scooted close to him as he settled in beside me, and he welcomed me into the circle of his arms, tangling his legs through mine. His hands stroked over my shoulders and down my back, slipped the elastic from my hair and unwound my braid. He combed his fingers through the twisting waves, chuckled at the goosebumps his touch sent flocking over me. He pulled the blankets snug around us and was leaning in close for a kiss when a huge yawn stretched my mouth wide. He laughed as I flushed, burying his face in my neck.

“Sorry,” I mumbled through a giggle as his teeth nipped at me playfully. “Sleepy.”

He sucked gently on the skin in the hollow beneath my ear before returning to my lips once more. I opened to him, my tongue slipping out to taste him. He suckled it gently before giving me his, and the kiss burned, long and lovely. “Sleep then, my love.” He whispered when we parted at last, cocking a lascivious eyebrow. “I can always have you again in the morning.”

“You can always have me whenever you want me,” I hummed, nuzzling into his chest, the heat of his body combined with the afterglow radiating through my own making my eyelids heavier and heavier. I shivered a bit as I felt his fingers curl around my collar at the back of my neck, his lips brushing against my forehead. “I love you, Tom.”

“My little one,” he hugged me close. “I love you. I am yours, Michelle, completely.” His finger under my chin tilted my head back ever so slightly, the truth and the love in his blue eyes carrying me into sleep. “And you… are mine.”


	24. Chapter 24

The bed was vast and cold without him; I wasn’t exactly certain why I was even still lying in it.

Our two week reprieve was magical, and we milked everything we could from every single moment. But the morning came, as we’d known it would, when Tom loaded his luggage into the hired car at the door before asking the driver for one last, private moment. The man gave a small, smart nod before sliding behind the wheel, and Tom turned to take our son from me. Jack’s curly head came to rest on his shoulder, his plump little arms winding around his neck. The sight of his tiny hands clutching gently at his father’s collar made me choke back a sob, and Tom reached over to thumb the tears gently from my cheeks. “Don’t cry, love,” he whispered hoarsely, blinking against the shine in his own eyes. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“No, you won’t,” I sniffled, rubbing my palm over Jack’s rump. “But we’ll be okay.”

He wrapped his arm around me, and I pressed myself against him as his mouth found mine. “I love you,” he murmured when we parted, into Jack’s hair, into my neck, over and over. “I love you… I love you… I love you.” He kissed my lips again and again, and then the baby’s forehead. “You be my big boy, okay, Jack-Jack? Take care of Mummy while I’m away.” Jack goggled up at him with a wet grin, and Tom kissed the little fingers that reached for his nose. “Give her lots of hugs and cuddles every day.” I could see him starting to crumble under the weight of his emotion as he handed the infant back to me, and I leaned into his hand as he caressed my cheek, trying my best to offer a brave smile. “We’ll do this differently next time, darling, I promise you. You’ll come with me… both of you…”

I nodded, turning my face to press my lips against his palm. “I love you, Tom.”

He kissed me once more, stroking his hand over Jack’s crown of curls. “I love you, Michelle.”

I slipped back into the doorway as he forced himself down the few front steps and into the back seat of the car. He rolled the window down as he closed the door, leaning out of it to wave as the vehicle pulled out of the driveway. “I love you, little one,” he blew me kiss after kiss as I bounced Jack on my hip, trying to smile.

“Say ‘bye bye, Dada’,” I encouraged in a watery voice, waving his tiny hand.

“Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba…” Jack verbalized agreeably, and I hugged him close as the taillights grew smaller and smaller before winking out of sight in the foggy English morning. Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders, closing and locking the door before carrying my now impatiently wriggling little bundle to the sofa. I hummed soothingly to him as I sank into our corner, tucking my legs underneath me as I unbuttoned my blouse. He rooted and latched with ease, and as his little hand came to rest against my chest, I let down in more ways than one.

“You look so much like your daddy, Jack-Jack,” I sniffled, stroking his cheek with the tip of one finger. “I am so glad I have you here to take care of me while he’s gone.” I swiped at my tears before they could fall onto his curious little face. “And we’re gonna be just fine, aren’t we? We’re gonna finish Mommy’s article, and we’re gonna roll over some more…” He paused in his suckling to gurgle up at me in fascination before tucking back in. “We’ll have Auntie Emmy over to spend the night, and we’ll go spend some time at Nana’s house, and we’ll talk to Daddy every day…” At the mention of his name, Jack’s little eyebrow quirked in such a perfect imitation of Tom’s I simply couldn’t bear it. Hugging the baby close, I gave in to my sadness, my shoulder shaking soundlessly as I wept into my hand. After Jack was sated and asleep once more, I carried him upstairs and tucked him into his crib before crawling, fully dressed, back into bed myself.

That had been two weeks ago. Two weeks of just the two of us, puttering around the house and neighborhood together in a new and oddly comforting routine. Jack would wake around five and I’d return to bed with him, nursing him back to sleep before placing him in his bassinet so I could sneak a couple extra hours myself. He’d be raring to go again by eight, and after that feeding, he’d babble to Squeaker from his bouncy seat while I showered. Downstairs for breakfast, and he would roll around his pack and play or coo at me from his swing while I typed or washed dishes or folded laundry. Once the morning fog burned away, we would venture out into the early April sunshine for a walk around the neighborhood or a trip to the market or the other shops nearby. Sometimes we’d lunch out, but we were always home by two so I could nurse him leisurely before his afternoon nap. After he was snugly tucked in, I would write, or brainstorm, read, or simply stare out the back window at the linnets and jays and wheatears as they flitted from tree to tree.

The Skype usually rang around nine, and few things thrilled me more than watching Jack’s head whip around at the sound. He would squeal and squirm until Tom’s face filled the screen, and then he would giggle and coo and hiccup until bathtime. Our conversation would continue with the laptop at a safe distance, and as I scrubbed the slippery little body, it was almost as if Tom were actually there with me, working in the bedroom, just outside the door. Then, dried and dressed, Jack would latch easily onto his bedtime bottle, and his little fingers would wave sleepily as he drifted away, listening to the stories of knights and cowboys and dragons and spaceships his father would weave for him with his own quiet, dramatic flair.

We would sign off for a bit then, long enough for me to put Jack down in his crib and for Tom to grab a shower. I would move the laptop to his nightstand, then lounge on the bed while I waited for his call. His curls were always wet and heavy, his skin glistening above the towel slung loose and low around his hips. I would lay back against the mattress, drinking in the sight of him as he sprawled against his own pillows. He was putting in two hours of upper body work every morning, and every minute showed in the muscles that rolled in his chest and shoulders, the sinew that stretched through his hands and forearms. My own slim fingers were a poor substitute for his until his voice seeped into them from the speakers, moving them over my body as he wished. I drifted on the ocean of his words as he urged, directed, commanded. And just as the deepest ecstatic undertow would take hold, I would open my eyes, needing to see his strong fingers as they stroked over his flushed and swollen cock, the thick white streaks of his release as they splashed against his taut stomach. Only then would I let my own orgasm take me, biting back my cries so I could hear his soft, encouraging purr.

_“There you are, little one… come for me like a good little girl…”_

In the grey of the pre-dawn, I could still feel the faintest trace of that lingering glow from the night before. We’d collapsed into our respective beds together, panting in tandem, our eyes locked through signals and circuitry as our hearts slowed and our bodies cooled. “Michelle,” he’d whispered softly at last. “I miss you so fucking much.”

“Oh, Tom,” I rolled onto my side, willing to curl myself around the computer if only it would keep the tears out of my voice. “I miss you. So much.”

“You and Sprout,” I blinked against the longing his words carried across the miles. “You’re really doing all right?”

I nodded, giving him my very best smile. “You’d be very proud of us, Daddy.”

“I’m always proud of you, love.” He reached out to trace my image on his screen as his mouth stretched wide in a yawn.

“You should sleep,” I hummed gently, meeting his touch with my own.

“You as well.” His tone was tired but firm, and my eyelids responded with the appropriate droop. “Until tomorrow, little one?”

“We’ll be here,” I assured him.

“I love you, Michelle.”

“I love you, Tom.”

“Sweet dreams, darling.”

His words echoed in my head, making the silence in the room seem deafening. I glanced at the clock; four-thirty. A grin ghosted over my lips as I realized this was the moment Tom’s own internal alarm would jangle him out of bed to tiptoe to the closet so he could dress for his morning run without waking me. He’d be two miles out when Jack’s hunger would rouse us both, and by the time I was finished nursing and wrangling the baby into a new diaper and fresh outfit, his long strides would carry him from the door to the changing table. He’d gift us both with sweaty, breathless kisses, then swat my ass playfully before jogging off for a shower.

It was those showers that I was thinking of as I finally gave up the pretense of going back to sleep, pushing myself out of bed and padding across the room. The bathroom now was cool and dark, such a striking contrast to what I usually found when it was my turn to bathe: the lights on, the floor warm, the air heavy with steam that smelled of his skin and sweat, his shampoo and aftershave. I let the water run a bit to mist over the mirror before slipping under the spray, closing my eyes against the pelting heat that danced across my face and pulled my hair back from my brow. I soaped my skin slowly, leisurely, enjoying the way my fingers slid easily over every hill and valley, retracing the paths Tom had dictated for me the night before. I sighed longingly at the gulf of hours that lay between where I was and when I would hear his voice again and then, with a resolute sniff, I began to scrub briskly at my scalp, determined to keep my chin up and my eyes dry.

Jack still hadn’t stirred when I emerged from the bathroom, robed and braided, and so I set about making the bed and tidying the room while I continued to wait. Then I rummaged through my lingerie cupboard, trying to pick a set to surprise Tom with later on. My hand tangled in the panties I’d been wearing our last night together before he’d left, and the memory of those final hours washed over me like a tidal wave.

I’d pouted most of that day. All I’d wanted was one last quiet night at home with my husband and my son: some Chinese takeout, some play time in front of the TV. And of course, long, slow, sweaty hours of fucking until neither Tom nor I could see straight anymore. So when he announced that Eleni would be arriving around seven so we could meet Chris and Emma out for dinner and a movie, I was more than a little perturbed. I spent the afternoon exhausting every trick I could to make him change his mind – flirting, teasing, enticing, brooding, even outright stewing – all to no avail.

It was more than a little shocking, therefore, when he seized my arm as I stepped from the shower and yanked me, dripping wet, against his body. He was clad only in boxers, and I gladly wrapped myself around him as his mouth crashed down on mine, eager to show him how willing I was to surrender to whatever pleasures he desired. His tongue tangled wantonly with mine, and I moaned into the kiss as his hands groped roughly over my hips, my ass, my thighs. “Oh, Tom,” I sighed into his own still damp hair as he nibbled his way down the line of my jaw. “I’m so glad you changed your mind.”

His head popped up at that, his expression adorably inquisitive. “Changed my mind about what?”

My brow furrowed in confusion. “About… about going out with Emma and Chris…”

“Oh, little bird,” he kissed the tip of my nose. “I haven’t changed my mind about that.”

“Really?” My shoulders sank, even as he pulled me against him once more to nibble at the skin in the hollow of my ear. “So this…” I tried to resist melting under the heat of his mouth, the tug of his teeth. “This is just a distraction?”

His velvety chuckle vibrated through me. “Oh, love,” his eyes were clear and bright with determined mischief. “This was always part of the plan.” I barely had time to register confusion before he spun me quickly, bending me at the waist and planting my hands on the sink. His gaze burned into mine through our reflections in the mirror, and I whimpered softly as my entire body shuddered in anticipation. “You wanted a night to remember, Michelle, and you shall have it.” He tickled his fingers over my wrists. “These hands will stay right here, yes?”

My head was nodding, my voice replying even before I’d truly registered that he’d asked me a question. “Yes.”

“Good.” He caressed my jaw, pressing a tender kiss to my cheek. “You will keep your head up,” he directed firmly. “You will keep your eyes open. Is that understood?”

Another reflexive nod. “Yes, Tom.”

“Excellent.” Another kiss to my cheek, and then he was stepping back, kicking my legs wider apart as he ran his warm palms over my back. “You’d be a heartbeat away from a truly mind-blowing orgasm right now, darling, had you not pouted and sulked your way through the afternoon.” I whimpered again, then yelped as he swatted me briskly on my right buttock. “I highly recommend that you listen carefully.” Another smack to the left. “And follow my instructions exactly.” He leaned his body over mine so he could speak with his mouth close to my ear. “Otherwise, my love, you won’t come at all tonight.” My eyes went wide at the warning, and it was his turn to nod. “I mean every word, Michelle.”

“I understand, Tom,” I babbled quietly. “I understand… I’m sorry. I’ll be a good girl, I promise. I’m so sorry…”

“Shhh,” his finger glanced against my lips before lifting my chin a notch. “Head…” His palms pressed down on mine once more. “Hands.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s my girl.”

With that, he went to his knees behind me, and I could feel cool air on the wet, throbbing flesh between my legs as he spread me wide. I pleaded with him silently – _no, Tom, please… not that… please_ \- but of course his tongue dipped between my folds, stealing a long, deep taste. My knees turned to water, and it took all the strength I had to hold myself up and not push back towards him. “There we are,” he purred, satisfied, as my excitement began to pour out of me, tickling down my inner thighs and dripping onto his lips. He worked his mouth over me in earnest, licking, sucking, until my legs began to shake, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “Michelle,” he growled. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“I won’t, Tom, I won’t,” I sobbed, hating the desperation staring back at me, unable to look away. “I won’t come… just… please…”

He was dancing soft, chaste kisses over my wide-spread labia. “Please what?”

“Please…” I lay my head on my forearm until the crack of his hand on my ass brought me back to myself.

“Please what?” Still so calm, so in control.

“Please… stop…”

Another teasing kiss, his tongue flickering over my swollen clit. “Stop what?”

I ground my teeth together, my fingers clawing at the marble of the sink top, the words caught in my throat. I didn’t want to say them, but I knew if I didn’t, he would continue to push and drive until I tumbled helplessly over the edge. And as good as it might have felt, I simply could not bear the thought of my last pleasure before our parting coming in such direct contradiction to his instructions. I wanted to atone for my bratty behavior, I wanted to earn his forgiveness, I wanted to make him proud. “Please, Tom,” I paused to clear my throat. “Please stop eating me out.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Why?”

I swallowed hard, facing the truth in my own eyes. “It feels too good… I won’t be able to stop myself from disobeying.”

He rose up behind me, the perfect picture of Dominant pride. “My sweet Michelle,” he leaned over once more, letting me taste myself on his lips as he kissed me warmly. “When you are good, you are so very, very good.” His hand wound gently around my throat, and I arched in shocked surprise as he slid his cock home inside me. “Oh, fuck… my love…”

He wasted little time, his forehead coming to rest between my shoulder blades as he grabbed my hips, thrusting into me brisk and deep and hard. It was exquisite torture, watching him, feeling his hard length moving inside me, his warm breath and soft lips dancing over my skin. His focus was his desire, and I was truly grateful; the lack of stimulation to my clit and g-spot only made keeping my own body’s response in check that much easier.

After a few long and deliciously agonizing moments, his eyes found mine in the mirror, and the wicked grin that curled his lips sent a shiver down my spine. I watched as his hand left my hip, reaching across the counter, and my jaw went slack – _how did I NOT see those before –_ as he snagged the bottle of lube and flipped the cap open. “Oh, God… Tom… please…”

“Hush,” he shushed me gently, making certain my gaze was glued to his fingers as he coated them generously. “You can take it. We both know you can.”

“Yes… but…”

His other hand spanked me smartly, and I bit down on the pout that emerged as a result. He was watching me with a stern playfulness that I hated as much as I adored, and he nodded approvingly at my silent submission. I exhaled a low moan as he pushed, carefully and smoothly, into my ass, enjoying his full body shudder as I clenched around him. “Relax, darling,” he urged, stroking and spreading me open. “Just think of how good it feels…” Deeper, wider, until I was all but ready to beg. Then his hand returned to caress beneath my chin, insuring my gaze was locked with his as he slid carefully from me, only to replace his fingers with his cock.

The slow stretch and burn was wonderfully excruciating, but I could tell from the tension in his hips and thighs that his controlled penetration was strictly for my comfort. And sure enough, once my body had allowed him in and relaxed around his intrusion, he began a sensual but brutal roll that closed his eyes as it widened mine, that left his jaw agape while it screwed mine tight at the corners. He was beautiful to watch: the undulation of the muscles in his chest and abdomen, the shimmer of perspiration on his skin, the dreamy desperation that etched into his face as he drove himself closer and closer to culmination. Part of me ached to not chase that high with him, but the bigger, truer part of myself was suddenly at perfect peace, so grateful for that moment of being _there_ , being _his,_ for him and him alone. I came together as he broke apart, words of _yes, Tom_ and _please_ and _I love you_ and _yes_ and _more_ and _oh, God, yes_ …

“Fucking hell, Michelle… that’s it, sweet… good girl… oh, Jesus… _fuck me_ …”

He thrust forward with all his strength as he came, and I shivered at the sensation of his liquid heat spilling inside me. His fingers dimpled the flesh of my hips as he pulled me back against him; I knew I’d be able to count ten perfect bruises the following morning. And then he collapsed against my back, his arms winding around me as his body surged into mine on one last, mighty wave, his teeth closing on the flesh where my shoulder met my neck. I clung to his forearms, thrilled that my lack of orgasm made it that much easier to hold him inside me as he rode out the last electric shocks of his. A moment of rough panting against my neck, and then one hand gently fisted my hair as the other cupped my chin, and he was kissing me, hot and sweet and hungry and tender. “Lovely little one,” he purred into my mouth. “Such a very good girl.”

A sudden slight but sharp twinge behind my navel made me whimper, but as I shifted against him, his hand slid from my hair to hold me down between my shoulder blades. “Just another minute, love,” he soothed, reaching for plug he’d placed beside the lube. The purple jeweled head winked in the light, and I blanched ever so slightly.

“Tom…”

“Shhh, little bird,” he tutted quietly. “Let me have my fun.”

I bit down on my bottom lip as he carefully withdrew his softening cock, replacing it quickly and smoothly with the cool metal bulb. It was the smallest of the three we’d used, and not at all difficult to take compared to his own girth. Even still, I knew what he expected, and I knew the task would be far from easy. “All night?” I asked his reflection with clear and accepting eyes.

“Well,” his own twinkled with teasing mirth. “At least until I get you home again.”

It wasn’t the most uncomfortable night I’d spent on Tom’s arm, but it certainly ranks in the top five. No one studies or speculates over a given situation with more attention to detail; he knew exactly what he was doing when he made his plans. He knew the plug wouldn’t be painful, would be little more than an erotic and sensual nuisance. He also knew that its size made its name little more than a moniker; I could feel the first trickling of his release teasing its way past the jeweled head before we were even in the car. And it was no accident the company he chose to play this little fantasy out in front of, either. Strangers might not have noticed any of my fidgety discomfort; our more curious friends would have simply come out and asked what the hell was wrong with me. But Chris and Emma would sneak their sideways glances, share a knowing look, maybe chuckle quietly between themselves. It all served to charge the atmosphere just enough to keep my color high in my cheeks and my teeth working absently over my bottom lip.

And in the center of it all, my cunning puppet master, pulling my strings with his shining blue eyes and Cupid’s bow smile. Close and affectionate all evening, his hands would sneak below my waist anytime he felt I’d settled too comfortably into my chore. His large palms would cup my buttocks, the tips of his long fingers teasing the purple jewel between them until I was gnashing my teeth and all but salivating in need. It wasn’t until halfway through the movie, when he finally let me run my own fingers over the rigid bulge in his trousers, that I finally saw a light of relief winking at the end of a very long tunnel. We said our goodbyes with hugs and kisses outside the cinema box office, Tom’s impending departure leading us to linger longer than we normally would. Then, finally, he reached under my seat between my legs as he eased the Jag onto the road home, reclining me back. “Skirt up, love,” he directed casually, “and panties off. I’m dying to see exactly how wet and swollen you are…”

When I think about it now, I realize that drive home was just another round of training, of teaching. Of Tom preparing me for the nights to come without him, nights where I would have no more than his voice and my hands to deliver me from the miles that would stretch between us, the hours I’d spend alone. One eye on the sparse traffic, the other on me, he directed my fingers to tease and trace, to tweak and tug at my nipples, my clit, to nudge the plug higher, deeper, until I was sprawled across the fine leather, a writhing, wanton mess. Once in the driveway, he killed the lights and turned in his seat, regarding me coolly for a moment before licking his own fingers and pushing them into my dripping cunt, encouraging me to scream my pleasure to the stars as his strong touch against my g-spot provided brutal, if only brief, relief at last.

Jack was already tucked into his crib, and Eleni was asleep on the living room sofa when Tom sent me up the stairs on slightly less then steady legs with one simple word of instruction: “naked”. I could hear him paying and warmly dismissing the sitter as I kicked off my heels and yanked my dress and bra over my head together. My panties were already in Tom’s pocket; I was rolling my stockings down my legs, and I began to shake as I listened to him thunder up the stairs. I’d only just cast the second wisp of silk aside when he filled the doorway, dropping his jacket to the floor and tearing his own shirt from his body. He was on me a heartbeat later, and all the urgency that had come before, all the longing that was to follow, coalesced in the heat of the embrace he swept me into. I clutched at his curls as his mouth attacked mine, my tiptoes stuttered uselessly against the carpet as he dragged me across the floor. We fell into bed as one, his hands grabbing at my hips as he snarled into my mouth: “Get those fucking hands over your head.”

I couldn’t obey him fast enough; I let myself grind shamelessly against his well-muscled denim-clad thigh as he buckled the cuffs in place. “Horny little slut,” he chuckled breathlessly.

“And whose fault is that?” I whimpered hoarsely. He stopped in the middle of fastening the second restraint to gift me with a withering look, and I turtled into myself just a bit. “Mine,” I squeaked in a tiny voice.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I love you,” he laughed, slipping the final strap into place before taking my face in his hands and devouring my mouth once more. His kisses were overwhelming: deep, ravenous, rough and demanding. I spent long, desperate moments trying to keep up until I realized… there was no need. All he wanted, all he’d ever wanted, was the one thing I always longed to give.

My surrender.

I went lax and limp in his arms.

And my Tom came alive.


	25. Chapter 25

The entire world was the heat of his hands as he caressed my neck and throat, the wet of his mouth as he kissed me again and again, the weight of his body lifting me higher and higher as it pressed me deeper and deeper into the mattress. He cupped my breasts, squeezing them roughly, bringing his damp fingertips to our mouths so we could taste together before he ducked his head to catch a nipple between his teeth. I moaned and arched into him as he thumbed its twin to a hard aching point before twisting it firmly until I squealed. Then he dragged his mouth to soothe that throbbing bud with flickers of his tongue before teasing the other in turn. Back and forth, licking and sucking, scraping fire into my flesh with his teeth until I was babbling, begging. His chuckle was warm as he lunged up for another kiss, his palms and fingers still kneading restlessly over my flesh.

He seemed determined to leave no inch of skin untasted, no area of my body unmarked. He refreshed the spot that never truly faded beneath my ear, left his teeth marks where my shoulder met my neck on my right, sucked a small, heart-shaped bruise into the same spot on the left. Whisker burn along my collarbone, purple kisses over the sideswells of my breasts, above my navel and at each end of my scar, in the hollow of each hip, half a dozen along the inside of each thigh. He cupped my ass in his hands, tilting my pelvis to his mouth, and his fingertips prodded the plug inside me as he danced his lips along the weeping petals of my cunt. My desire jerked violently back to life when he thrust his tongue inside me, the tip of his nose nuzzling my clit just enough to make the throbbing pearl scream for more.

“Tom… Tom…” I forced myself to keep my moans low, knowing that anything loud enough to rouse our son into disturbing his father’s fun would buy me a gag for the rest of the night. “Oh, God, Tom… yes, please…” My head thrashed from side to side against my pillow as he feasted on me, the tickle and stroke and nip delicious, wonderful, but not nearly the _deep_ and _hard_ and _savage_ that I craved, that I needed. “Tom…” My shoulders began to shake as I sobbed out plea after whispered plea. “Tom… Sir… please… oh, God, please…”

“What would you beg for, little one?” His tone husky, gentle, encouraging and soothing, even as his breath over my wet folds made me shiver, and the graze of his lips against my clit made me shake. “What do you need?”

“You…” I could feel the tears slipping from the corners of my eyes and into the hair at my temples. “Please… you, Sir, please… I need you…”

His sympathetic chuckle vibrated through me as he flicked his tongue around the entrance of my pussy. “Little bird,” he cooed. “All this time as my delightful little fucktoy, and still so shy.” He closed his lips around my clit for one brief tug before releasing it just as quick. “What. Do. You. Need?”

_How can you still do this to me? And how can I still hate you and love you so fucking much for it?_

“I need you to fuck my pussy, Tom,” I wept softly. “Your fingers, your cock… please. Please. I’m so empty it hurts. And I need you inside me, Tom… Sir… I need you to fuck me. Please fuck me… please fuck me…”

I have no idea how many times I chanted it, over and over. All I know is that, a heartbeat later, he was above me, lifting my thighs up over his hips as he gave me all I wanted, all I needed: himself. His cock thrusting hard and fast into my greedily clenching pussy. His mouth, taking my breath and warming it before giving it back to me. His eyes, staring into mine and finding the Michelle only he could see. And his heart, beating like a jackhammer in perfect tandem as it pressed against mine.

I came long and slow when his fingers slipped between us to play teasingly with my clit. I came fast and furious, when he slid his hand down to grip the head of the plug in my ass, shifting it inside me until it felt like my g-spot was being assailed from both sides at once. I came biting into his neck when, after slipping the metal sphere from my body, he lifted me up off the bed, my legs around his waist, pounding into me until sweat dripped from his forehead to pool in the hollow of my shoulder. And I came clawing marks of my own into his back after he freed my wrists so that I could hold him as he came with me, shouting my name into the pillow beneath us so our boy wouldn’t wake.

Shuddering, shaking, sweating, and sobbing, we lay in one another’s arms as the ecstatic aftermath of passion and the silent shadow of our impending separation overwhelmed us, tossing us like leaves on the wind. He stroked my hair as I cried softly into his chest; I kissed every inch of his face as he whispered “I love you” again and again and again. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

_“I’ll be back before you know it…”_

A loud, lusty cry jerked me from my reverie, and I blushed furiously as I caught sight of myself in the mirror: standing slack-jawed at my open armoire, the tip of my braid still dripping a dark spot on the silk of my robe, my fingers tangled in a pair of lacy underwear. “Mommy’s coming, Jack-Jack,” I called out, flipping the lace back into the drawer and selecting simpler satin briefs. “Mommy’s coming.”

His flushed little cheeks were pressed against the bars of his crib when I entered the room, and he reached a waving hand through them as I approached. “Oh, my sweet boy,” I lifted him to my shoulder, loving the way he put his arms around me and burrowed into my neck. “Come on, Sprout,” I carried him to the changing table. “Let’s get you a clean diaper.” I wiped the tears from his face before unsnapping his sleeper, and he giggled agreeably as I tickled his bare tummy.

After I nursed him and gave him a bath, we trundled downstairs, his little fingers plucking curiously at my collar. “Jack-Jack,” I grinned at him. “That gives Mommy the shivers!” He bounced on my hip in delight, and I spread the activity mat on the living room floor. “Here you go,” I set a few toys and blocks around him, laying him on his back before padding to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. Sure enough, when I returned, he had made it to his tummy and was kicking his legs in frustration as he reached for the plastic fire truck just out of reach. Setting my mug on the end table, I moved to lay on the floor facing him. “Come on, showoff,” I cheered as he squealed and stretched his arm in front of him. “Come on, big man… you can do it! Stretch… stretch!”

We played on the floor for close to an hour, until the unexpected but beloved trill from my cellphone echoed from my pocket. “Hi sweetie!” I bubbled. “What a great surprise!”

“Hello, my little one!” He sounded winded but happy. “Hey, I’ve only got… like… seven minutes, but I need you to do something for me, okay?” I listened as he rattled off a list of numbers and email addresses he needed me to text him, and where I could find them in his address book, along with information about a contract package that was sent to the house instead of Michael’s office by mistake. “Would you mind terribly running it in when it comes, love?”

“Not at all,” I assured him. “Jack and I will do it together. Hey,” I chewed briefly on my lip. “Still got a minute?”

“Four, actually,” he chuckled.

“Okay, hang up and wait a second.” I disengaged the call, then activated the FaceTime function on my phone before quickly laying it down in front of the baby. Tom’s expression exploded into elation when he answered.

“There’s my big man!” He laughed heartily and Jack screeched in delight, immediately launching into a stream of babbling that amazed us both. “Michelle, is he on his belly?”

“He is,” I affirmed.

“Did he do that himself?”

“He did.” Tom had been home the first time Jack had rolled from his back to his stomach, but we were both convinced that, at four and half months, it was probably just a fluke.

“He does it all the time now, doesn’t he?” The wonder and pride in Tom’s voice was unmistakable, and I beamed as I rubbed the infant’s back. I could hear others in the background, and my smile only widened as I heard Tom call out to them. “Hey, Goran, Andrew, Allison… come have a look at my son!” I supervised happily as Jack goggled at the faces cooing at him up from the screen, laughing with my hand over my mouth as he squawked his displeasure when they crowded out his father. I snagged a tissue in time to save my mobile from a mouthful of drool, then distracted the boy with a biscuit in order to sneak the phone away without a fuss. “Oh, thank you, darling,” Tom sighed, smiling gratefully from hundreds of miles away. “That was the most amazing pick-me-up.”

“Thank you,” I murmured softly. “So was mine.”

“Your what?” Tom affected confusion.

“Knock it off, Hiddleston,” I teased. “We both know full well you did not have to call to get those numbers or let me know about the contract.” I gazed longingly into the image of his blue eyes. “A text would have gotten the job done just fine.”

He grinned, caught. “Well,” his voice dropped just a hint in timber and pitch. “Then I would have missed hearing you say you love me and you miss me desperately.”

I quirked my mouth as I nodded. “This is true.” I held my silence for a moment as he stared at me expectantly, then blanched as if I’d honestly forgotten. “Oh! I love you and I miss you desperately.”

He growled a laugh at me, narrowing his eyes. “Cheeky brat.”

I giggled myself, then softened. “Seriously, Tom… I really, really do miss you.”

“My darling,” he sighed, “I really, really miss you.” He glanced over his shoulder as someone in the distance barked his name, and I swallowed against the lump in my throat at the shadow of sadness that crossed his face. “I love you so much, Michelle.”

I blinked back a tear as I smiled for him. “I love you.”

“You look beautiful, my love. Have an amazing day, and we’ll speak tonight.”

I nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“All my love, little one.”

“I love you, Tom.”

Jack was gazing at me curiously as I dropped the hand with the phone in it to my side, waving the soggy remnants of his cookie at it while chattering a rather inquisitive sounding string of nonsense. “I know, Jack-Jack,” I sighed, toying with the curls squiggling from atop his head. “I miss him, too.” He held the biscuit out to me, wide-eyed, and I grinned. “A bite for Mommy?” He cooed adorably as I leaned close, and even though I hadn’t really intended to actually taste the well-gummed mess, I still pretended to be surprised when he pulled it back to his own mouth. “You little tease!” I pianoed my fingers over his sides until he shrieked giggles, then moved him to his exer-saucer before pulling out my laptop.

It had been pointed out to me time and time again that, after all the personal work that had come before, it only made sense that my next installment of work should chronicle the story of Jack’s conception and birth. I had resisted for months, if for no other reason because I was loath to put such a private part of my son’s life on display for profit before he was even old enough to have a voice in the matter. But both Tom and Emma were more than amenable to the idea, pointing out that Jack would one day benefit from reading about how much he was wanted, that Jennifer Deseje deserved to have her success touted on a grand public stage, and of course, that it might be helpful to other people stuck in our circumstance. So, even though I was honestly tired of being regarded as the voice of a cause, I had finally agreed. Mostly because the contract was open-ended; I could cash my actually quite impressive advance and still write at my leisure.

I was actually in a bit of a groove, the first one in a while, when Jack began to root and grumble, so I grabbed the sling from the diaper bag and strapped him to my chest so I could work while he nursed. I was typing furiously when a sharp pain in my nipple derailed my train of thought. “Ow!” I stuck my finger in the corner of his mouth to break the seal, and when he stretched it wide in an indignant wail, I saw them: the sharp white edges of two front teeth, one sprouting from his top gum line, the other from the bottom. “Jack!” My tone was rueful excitement. “Baby, you’ve got teeth!” I fumbled my cellular between us to snap a few pictures, which I immediately texted to Tom: “Check out these CHOMPERS, Daddy!” I knew he probably did not have his phone on his person, so after they were sent, I slipped the mobile back into my pocket and rose from my chair. I moved to our spot on the sofa before letting the baby latch again, wanting to keep my hand in place to protect myself as much as possible.

We were lunching in her garden with Diana and James when Tom finally had a moment to look and reply (“Holy Christ… Boy doesn’t do anything halfway, does he, Mummy?”), and I made sure to forward the snaps to each grandparent. James always looked a little flushed and uncomfortable when first greeting my son, no doubt haunted by the ghost of the attitude he’d shown me before Tom and I were wed. But his anxiety usually melted as soon as I plopped the kid in his arms, and today was no exception. Diana and I chatted easily while Jack plucked the glasses from his grandfather’s nose. “Jack-Jack, no, don’t get Grandpa’s glasses dirty.” I reached to take them from him, only to smile in surprise when James shooed my hands away.

“There are worse things in the world then smudgy glasses,” he quipped. “And if they break? Well, Grandpa’s got a whole drawer full of others at home.”

“I hope you mean that,” I snorted as I watched my little boy twisting and turning the earpieces in fascination. “Doctor Destructo there is a lot stronger than he looks.”

Twenty minutes later, lunch was finished; sprawled on James’ shoulder, so was my son. “Sarah’s old?” Tom’s father asked as he rose, confirming the location of the crib Tom had assembled for Diana a few months before. I stood as well, collecting the dishes to clear, when my mother-in-law lay a hand on my shoulder.

“Let me do this, dear,” she tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You go and have a lie down as well.”

I blanched at her kindness. “Don’t be silly, Diana, let me help.”

She stood firm, taking the small stack of plates from my hands. “I’ll have no argument, young lady. You’re running quite the busy show on your own and doing so brilliantly. But that won’t last if you don’t sneak these moments of respite when you can.” She waved me towards the house. “Go.” I was thinking to myself as I trudged up the stairs that there would be no way I could fall asleep, and I was trying to decide how long I’d play games on my phone before heading back down as I stretched across the feather bed. But my mobile never made it out of my pocket, and two hours later, I blinked my eyes open to the sound of Tom’s mother singing and my son laughing.

It all led to me feeling incredibly refreshed and frisky, and after Jack was down, my Skype session with Tom was a little more… rigorous… than usual. “Jesus fucking Christ, little one,” he rasped through the speakers after he’d finally wrung me out to his satisfaction, sprawled naked across his bed with his hand still loosely grasping his half-hard cock. “New rule – lunch with my mum every day, got it? Every. Single. Day.”

“Oh, God,” I gasped, breathless myself. “I wish I could. But unfortunately for us, your mother has a life.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed, swiping his hand over his forehead. “Maybe not so unfortunate,” he grunted. “Trying to keep this up with you after scaling mountains and chopping wood all day for this bloody film could just be the end of me.”

I giggled airily, running my fingers over my taut nipples. “Oh, no… can’t have that…”

“Stop it, you,” he growled, sitting up and grabbing his towel to wipe the milky white streaks from his belly.

“But Tooooom…”

“No buts,” he snapped the terrycloth playfully at the screen. “You’ve had enough for one night, insatiable little minx.” I pouted my lip at him and he laughed in genuine amusement. “Keep it up, brat. I’ll take a late meeting or head to bed early tomorrow night and really give you something to pout about.”

“Okay,” I bounced to my knees with my best good girl smile, reaching for a t-shirt and pulling it over my head.

“Much better,” Tom grinned, pulling his boxers up over his hips. “So that contract should be there tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting for it,” I promised. “And I already told Sarah we’d meet her for a bite, so…” I longed to reach through the screen and stroke back the errant curl that had fallen across his forehead; as if reading my mind, he reached up and did it for me. Before I knew it, the wistful words were falling from my lips. “Come home, Tom.”

“Oh, sweet love,” he leaned closer to the camera. “You don’t know how badly I want to.” His finger touched the screen, and I knew he was tracing the outline of my face. “How I miss the feel of your hair across my chest in the morning. The way you taste in that first kiss of the day. The way Jack smells after his bath.”

I sighed longingly. “He looks for you constantly.”

“He does?” He grinned sadly. “My boy… rolling all over the place… those teeth!”

“Yeah,” I pressed my palms against my tender nipples. “Those teeth.” We laughed a little together, and then he yawned, long and weary. “Go to sleep,” I urged quietly.

“Come to me in my dreams?”

“I’ll be there.”

He yawned again, his hand already reaching to close his laptop. “Goodnight, little one. I love you.”

“I love you, Tom,” I watched the screen go dark. “Goodnight.” I fell back against the pillows, winding my arms around his and pressing it to my face to absorb my scream of frustration. I scowled at the ceiling for a long moment after setting it aside, too tired to rise and do anything, too awake to sleep. Sitting up and crossing my legs under me, I moved the laptop in front of me and closed the Skype and opened my email. A form letter rubber stamp on the notes I’d sent to the Doubleday editors, an invite to weekend brunch with Ben and Carrie, and several article solicitations forwarded from Grace. But it was the message from Tom that caught my eye. I clicked it open, then gasped in delight as two full color prints from the Marvel Gala came into focus. “Signed this one for a crew member’s daughter today…” He’d typed above one of him standing solo, hip cocked, head thrown back in laughter. “But I far prefer this one…” Below that, the shot of our kiss captured in all its glory: our eyes dreamily closed, our lips sealed together, his fingers curling around my collar.

Below the last picture was a link, and I scrolled down to follow it. Dozens of shots began to populate on the screen, and I bounced a little on the mattress in girlish excitement. I scrolled through them all, downloading a few of my favorites: Robert with Mark in a headlock, Chris and Elsa smiling adorably at one another, Scarlett looking every inch the silver vixen in her shimmering platinum gown, Evans gazing adoringly down at Emma as she laughed at something Anthony had said.

Finally, I queued up the pictures of me and Tom, grinning like a loon. The dress really had turned out perfectly, and I felt myself flush at the pride and desire shining clear in my husband’s eyes. I was scrutinizing a shot of him on his knees before me when I noticed each photograph had a button underneath: “Comments”. I clicked on this one in particular, and a list unfurled before my eyes:

“Oh god Tom pleeeeeeeeze kneel for me!” “HOT.” “He is such a cutie!” “Playful man, luuuuuuucky woman!” “Didn’t they, like, just have a baby or something? She looks pretty damn good…” “I’ll have, like, 10,000 of his babies” “LOL – she didn’t have the baby, they used a surrogate.” “Who cares? She STILL looks pretty damn good for lugging a rugrat around.”

Giggling to myself, I activated a second link below a picture of Tom alone:

“Jesus Mary Joseph and John – that man IS sex” “Seven different kinds of NOPE” “I can haz?” “Team Right for the win!”

They went on, but when I saw the picture of our kiss, I skimmed quickly over:

“SCORCH!” “Hey, Tom, how about a little kiss with that tongue?” “Anyone else seeing Mr. Right turning into Mr. RIGHT NOW?”

And then, I stopped cold.

“Do they HAVE to flaunt the BDSM thing everywhere they go?” “Right… srsly?” “He’s not doing much lately… maybe this is his way of yanking back some spotlight?” “Uhhh maybe this crap is WHY he’s not doing much? I mean, dude, keep it in the bedroom. NO ONE CARES YOU MARRIED YOUR PET.” “Totally. You have a kid now, it’s like, 50 shades of gross.”

I slammed the laptop shut, not even bothering to close the browser before I did. My hands were shaking, and a sudden rush of acid burned its way up from my throat. I stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, shaking a few antacid tablets from the bottle into my hand. I grimaced as I crunched them down, splashing cold water on my face to try and center myself once more.

_It’s just a few snarky fans_ , I told myself silently. _This is life in the public eye; it’s no big deal. We knew not everyone was going to understand or agree with our lifestyle choice. AND THAT’S OKAY. We made our peace with this a long time ago, Michelle. And the road has been relatively smooth until now, when you stop to think about it. So it’s okay… let it go. Tom probably hasn’t even seen those comments, and he probably won’t go looking for them, and even if he finds them, he won’t care. It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal._

Taking a deep breath, I wiped my face on a hand towel and stared down my reflection before reaching to turn of the light. As it winked out it caught, just for a second, the shining brilliance of the chain at my throat, the symbol of my life with Tom.

_His touch on my skin… always there… always holding me._

_It’s NOT a big deal._

_Is it?_


	26. Chapter 26

“Come on, Jack-Jack,” I pleaded desperately with the tangle of wriggling arms and legs on my lap. “Cut Mommy some slack and eat… please?”

Gazing up at me with wet, red-rimmed eyes, my son shook his head stubbornly from side to side, arching away from the bottle I was attempting to root him to with his lips pursed tightly together. “Goddamn it,” I muttered under my breath, setting it down on the coffee table with a thump and lifting the child to my shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. He buried his face in my neck, shoving his fist in his mouth and sniffling around it. “It’s okay, Sprout,” I tried to soothe him in my own watery voice. “It’s okay.”

The process of cutting teeth had hit Jack with a vengeance, and suddenly, the sweet, easily soothed infant that had lived in my house for nearly six months was making fewer and fewer appearances. The nagging low-grade fevers were coming on a daily basis, wreaking absolute havoc on his sleep schedule and, as a result, my own. He was enjoying solids more and more, but with four teeth coming in at once, if his gums were bothering him, getting a spoon near his mouth was absolutely no dice. Tired and miserable, he’d become especially clingy, wailing inconsolably whenever I put him down.

The only time he didn’t want me, it seemed, was when he wanted Tom. The phone calls and Skype sessions that had been my oasis in the early part of my husband’s absence were slowly becoming the bane of my existence. Almost as conditioned as I was, Jack would become frantic at the familiar chime, whining plaintively until his father’s face was on the screen, then squawking angrily when he didn’t magically materialize through it. The fits he would pitch when the calls were over and he was expected to settle into his crib alone frayed my nerves and broke my heart in equal measure. If it weren’t for the few times a week we still opened our laptops and closed our doors on the rest of the world to sweat out our frustrations together, I probably would have hurled the damn thing out the nearest window.

The night the call came late I was already annoyed, having endured the ritual of putting the baby down alone, with him constantly stretching his arms for the dark, silent screen. Seeing Tom’s face twisted in a combination of anger and sorrow and regret as he told me his respite trip home was going to be pushed back only made a bad night worse; when we signed off, both still fully clothed, I broke the cardinal rule by plucking the baby from his crib and tucking him into bed with me, crying myself to sleep with my nose buried in his soft silky curls.

As if all of that weren’t taxing enough, the little bugger had spent the past four days turning his nose up at the bottle at every single feeding, changing what had been some of my favorite moments of the day into heart-rending battles of will. Even when I won and successfully maneuvered the nipple into his mouth, I felt like a failure. So many women struggled with the one part of motherhood that had come relatively easily to me, and here I was fighting my kid to make him accept a substitute. But the times I would relent and give him my breast instead weren’t the same anymore either. Constantly on guard against those sharp little teeth everyone was so proud of, I just couldn’t relax and lose myself in him anymore. And no matter how many times the pediatrician reassured me it put Jack at no risk, I simply couldn’t bring myself to let him nurse if I was bleeding. So we’d wriggle and wrestle until one wore down the other, and it seemed that this morning would be no exception.

“All right, all right, fine!” I snapped as quietly as I could manage, yanking my robe open and repositioning him across my lap. Sure enough, he rooted quickly, and sure enough, he promptly bit down, making me hiss and wince. “Fuck it all, Michelle,” I grumbled to myself. “Think of it as nipple play and take it like a sub.” No sooner were those words out of my mouth when _their_ words drifted, as they were so wont to do lately, from the recesses of my mind.

_Do they have to flaunt the BDSM thing…_

_Maybe that’s WHY he’s not doing much…_

_Fifty shades of gross…_

I looked down at the little face staring back up at me, stroked a finger over one rosy cheek. “Well, it’s not like we can change what we are, huh, Sprout?” Blue eyes blinked at me silently, and I sighed heavily. “Book’s been out for years. Interviews, articles…” I passed a reverent hand over my collar. “And you know what your grandpa used to say?” I pitched my tone to match one my son would never hear firsthand. “You can’t suck the bullet back in the gun once it’s fired, girl.” Jack paused in his suckling to grin and gurgle up at me, chomping down one more once he’d swallowed his mouthful. I smiled as best I could, keeping my words sugar-sweet. “That hurt, you little shit.”

The smile widened at his belly giggle, then vanished entirely as I looked at the clock. 2:17 pm. Tom was scheduled to catch a flight out of Zagreb at 4:30, and had promised me a call when he left for the airport. I fumbled my cellular from my pocket, certain I’d left it in silent mode; my stomach plunged through the floor when I saw I was wrong. Active, fully charged, no missed calls, no texts. Jack’s sudden whimper and squirm alerted me to the fact that I’d tightened my arm around him, and I shifted apologetically against the sofa cushions. “Sorry, Sprout,” I cooed, swiping my thumb across the screen. “Mommy just needs to calm down, right, buddy? Mommy just needs to calm down…” I fumbled out an airily worded text, “Hey handsome, no call? How goes the travel?”

I stared down the accursed device for the next thirty minutes, trying to will from it a response that never came. I don't know how long Jack had been dozing in my arms when I finally noticed and forced myself to my feet to carry him upstairs. “It’s okay, Jack-Jack,” I whispered as I smoothed his hair back from his forehead, kissing him gently as I lay him in his crib. “I bet he was so excited to come home that he just plain forgot. But he’ll be here tonight, okay? You sleep, and when you wake up, we’ll make dinner and dessert and then he’ll be home.”

I hadn’t even made it to the door of the nursery before I knew I was kidding myself. This production, as excited as Tom had been to be a part of it, had been fraught with pitfalls and delays, one after the other, and I was slowly becoming certain that this homecoming was going to be no exception. Pulling the door closed, I leaned against the wall, drawing my phone from my pocket once more. I dialed his number; it rang, rang, rang again. I closed my eyes, swallowed hard as his cheery voice entreated me to leave a message. “Hey, Tom,” I tried not to sniffle. “It’s just me.” I was silent for a long heartbeat. “Well, I didn’t go straight to voicemail, so I know you’re not in the air yet…” The tears pooled, slid down my cheeks. “You’re not going to be, are you?” I bowed my head, watched the violet satin of my robe darken as it absorbed the evidence of my misery. “I… it…” I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Just call me, okay? I love you… just call. Please.”

Disconnecting the line, I glanced down the hallway towards the bedroom door. I’d already cleaned the room and changed the sheets, had my trousseau all laid out and waiting. Deciding that, since there seemed to be no point in wearing _it_ there was no point in getting dressed at all, I tightened the sash at my waist, turned, and descended the stairs. I was taking my first sip of tea at the kitchen counter when the doorbell rang. Sighing heavily, I set my cup down and straightened my neckline. _Not that it matters_ , I thought to myself. _That Tanya chick from the courier service isn’t about to give up this route until she meets him face to face._ I slipped aside the cover for the peephole, and stood on tiptoe to use it.

All I could see were roses, and my heart followed my stomach down through my feet. I pushed myself back from the door as my tears began to flow faster, as my shoulders began to shake. I didn’t want to open it, didn’t want to see the bright, chipper eyes of the envious messenger, didn’t want to read the excuse and the apology tucked among the beautiful, fragrant buds. My hand slipped into my pocket, catching my mobile in a deathgrip, and I began to silently will myself not to pull it out, not to dial, not to scream into his voicemail.

_Fuck your flowers, Tom, I want **you** …_

The doorbell rang again, followed by a persistent knock. “Shit,” I spat angrily, yanking my sleeves to my fingertips and using them to swipe the tears from my cheeks. Then, fluffing my hair, I took a deep breath and put my hand on the knob. The soft, sweet perfume wafted gently on the air, but it was the velvety “eheheheh” that struck my senses first. I blinked once, twice. “Tom?”

Gingery brown curls. Dancing, mirth-filled eyes. Stubbled jaw and grinning mouth and close enough to touch. “There’s my little one,” he purred playfully. “Took you long enough.”

He was nothing but surprised chuckles when I launched myself at him, crushing the flowers between our bodies and not caring a whit. He spent a second or two trying to wrangle the stems and buds to freedom, only to give up and let go, allowing them to drop to the ground as I wrapped myself around him, shaking and sobbing his name.

“Oh, my love,” he lifted me into his arms, carrying me back into the house and kicking the door closed behind him.

My fingers plunged into his hair as his mouth found mine and at last I was truly breathing again, his air filling my lungs as his warmth seeped into me. He sank down onto the sofa, guiding me to straddle him, and I buried my face in his neck as he held me. “You’re home… you’re home…”

His large palms spanned my back in warm, sweeping passes as his lips danced over my cheek, my temple. “I am, little one,” he whispered into my hair. “Home at last.”

I lifted my head, needing to find the blue of his eyes, to lose the doubt and the misery of the previous weeks in their warm, calm depths. As I gazed down at him, still wondering at the fact that he was there, solid beneath me, the corners of his mouth quirked in a loving grin. His hands slid over my ribs to up my breasts, his fingers kneading patiently at their aching fullness as the pads of his thumbs swirled around the satin-clad bullet points of my nipples. I twitched ever so slightly as he teased and teased and teased with his gentle, feather light touch, catching my lip between my teeth and whimpering encouragement when I felt the bite of the friction over the chafed flesh.

_Oh, God… yes… thank you, Tom… thank you…_

His breath was warm and sweet, his lips and the tip of his nose tracing the goosebumps that littered my skin as he nuzzled into my cleavage. I arched into him, the sleeves of my robe sliding down to bare my arms as I lifted them over my head, crossing them at the wrist. I could feel the curve of his smile against the swells of my breasts, and his fingers tickled fire over my limbs as he reached up to plait them through mine. I gave them to him willingly, waited for him to guide them to the small of my back, to maybe pull the sash from my waist to bind them in place. But he simply returned my hands to his neck before slipping his arms around me and pulling me flush against his body. I looked down at him, confused and a bit off balance, but saw only love and tender desire shining back at me.

“My beautiful Michelle,” he murmured against my lips before slipping his tongue between them, nudging his hips up against me in a languid roll that made me quiver, even if wasn’t the hard and urgent and demanding contact I craved. I pushed my core down against him and he gripped my hips a bit tighter, groaning into my mouth, “God, how I’ve missed you…”

It took everything I had not to slide my grip into his hair, to yank his head back on his neck, to scream and beg and provoke.

_Take me, then, Tom! I’m here… I’m yours! Take me… bend me… hurt me… break me! Please…_

But his mouth, so hot, so wet, his hands so warm and soothing, his gaze so full of worship, and his need to hold and caress and comfort and love positively radiating off of him in waves… it did feel good, and I’d been so miserable without him. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was him, it was Tom, and he was what I needed.

And so I surrendered. Because I always surrendered.

My robe fell silently to the floor, his hands chasing the chill of the air from my skin. His eyes glowed with playful fire and his lips nipped at mine as I unbuckled his belt and opened his fly. Hot, hard, velvety smooth skin over rigid muscle, purple, leaking, aching for me as I for him. He cupped my buttocks as I shifted above him, and I overflowed as he filled me, my tears falling like rain. “My love,” his voice swirled through my head as he pulled me close and I clung to him, my forehead pressed to his, our gazes locked, never wavering. He guided with an easy roll and thrust, leading me wordlessly up the slow incline towards orgasm, more shepherd than commander, soothing me with a gentle “shhh” here and there when my sobs threatened to overtake me completely. When the muscles that gripped him began to tremble and clench, he slipped a careful hand between our bodies, finding my clit swollen and slick and straining for his touch. He played with it gently, tugging and twisting lightly until my head fell back on my neck, his other hand catching me and offering support as I stared at the ceiling above.

“That’s it, darling… my beautiful girl. Come for me, my love…”

His entreaty, as ever, all I needed to unlock the door inside myself and I charged through with hardly a glance back, knowing he would follow. A freefall in slow motion, like leaves drifting to the ground on a warm autumn breeze, and I melted into him, tasting myself on his fingers as he guided my lips back to his. He whispered words of love into my mouth, his eyes blown wide and rapturous as he spilled into me in strong, sticky spurts. His hand in my hair slipped down to my neck and I shivered, finally finding my smile as his fingertips brushed over the chain that he’d put there himself, the collar I never took off. “Welcome home, Tom.”

His own smile was radiant joy as he wiped the lingering tears from my cheeks. “I love you, Michelle.”

I vaguely recall him helping me back into my robe, ushering me up the stairs on weak, watery legs. He tucked me into our bed before crawling in beside me, curling around me in that arc of warm protection I’d come to adore. He was drawing the comforter up over my shoulder as my fingers curled in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. “Tell me, my love…”

Ritual, habit… I couldn’t have slept without it. “I’m yours, Tom… I’m yours.”

I woke several hours later to find his empty shirt still tangled in my fingers. I giggled at the mental image of him wiggling out of it, carefully and quietly, making every effort not to disturb my slumber. That giggle blossomed into a full-on laugh when I heard a shriek of delight echo its way up the stairs. I dressed as quickly as I could and bounded down to the living room.

The sight that greeted me made my heart swell and thump in my chest. A soft knit blanket spread across the floor, toys scattered across it like a cartoon battlefield. Jack lay on his belly in the center, squealing and squawking as he worked to get his arms and legs underneath him. And directly in front of him, long limbs already in position, taut, gorgeous ass in the air, was Tom. His eyes were shining like sapphires and his face was split in an impossibly happy grin as he coached our son in a hearty, playful tone. “Come on, Sprout, you can do it! Look,” he planted his hands on the floor in demonstration. “Push up, come on, that’s my boy…” His gaze lifted as I crossed to lean over the back of the couch, and his cheeks flushed a bit in greeting. “Hello there, my beauty.”

“Hi,” I giggled softly. “What do you think?”

“Oh, God, Michelle…” he breathed in awe. “He’s so big!”

“That he is,” I agreed, moving to join him when he held out his hand.

“Look, Jack-Jack,” he laughed as the baby wriggled in delight. “Mummy’s awake and come to play!” He pressed a kiss to my cheek as I stretched out on the floor beside him, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. Jack’s little arm stretched towards me, and I waved encouragement, leaning against Tom to soak in the warmth of his body. Our son positively glowed, his little eyes darting from Tom’s face to mine and back again, his wet and now quite toothy grin on prominent display. We lolled lazily on the floor for a while, falling back into our family rhythm with an ease that was almost too comforting, Tom showering both me and the boy with affection in equal measure.

I left the two of them cuddling and cooing at one another, stealing one last lingering kiss before rising and moving into the kitchen. I had just slipped the roast into the oven when they swept in behind me, Tom tucking Jack into his highchair before sidling up behind me. “How can I help, love?”

I was opening my mouth to reply when Jack’s shrill bellow of discontent cut me off, making Tom flinch, his eyes wide in amused shock. “You can start,” I giggled, “by feeding the beast.” I gestured to the small containers on the counter that held all the little finger-foods the doctor had cleared for Jack to munch on as he teethed. “Cut Daddy some slack, Sprout,” I teased gently as Tom dropped a handful of goldfish crackers onto the tray. “He’s still a rookie.”

Once the food prep was done, Tom led me to the table, nudging me into my chair before crossing to snag a bottle of Barolo from the rack. He poured each of us a glass before sinking in his chair next to me, and as the aroma of his mother’s Yorkshire pudding slowly filled the air, we sipped and talked, our fingers dancing and twining together on the tabletop. I listened raptly as he spoke of the cast and the crew, the brutality of his physical training, and the beauty of the Croatian countryside. I left the table to fetch the pages I had written while he’d been gone, chewing my thumbnail in silence as he read. His smile was full of loving pride when he set the last one aside, pulling me into his lap and nuzzling my neck. “Amazing,” he whispered against my lips before tasting them with his own. “My brave, beautiful girl…”

By the time dinner was over, my cheeks hurt from smiling as I watched his impressive first attempt at feeding our boy from a jar. “Tell Daddy ‘good job’, Jack,” I laughed as he spooned the last of the puree into the baby’s mouth, clapping my hands until Jack mimicked me with marked enthusiasm.

Tom pretended to bow humbly in his chair before wiping the remnants of purple paste from Jack’s chin. “Many thanks, many thanks,” he shot me a knowing smirk. “Especially to Mummy,” he tapped the label of the jar with the tip of the spoon. “For padding my hand.”

I shrugged as I rose, moving behind his chair. “He was going to get plums tonight no matter what,” I assured him as I leaned down, winding my arms around his neck and nibbling gently on his ear. “But I did figure you could use the confidence boost before I threw you in the deep end with the green beans tomorrow.”

After the kitchen was clean and the baby bathed, I watched my two men sink into the rocker beside Jack’s crib, handing Tom the bottle I’d just pumped once they were settled. “Christ, I’ve missed this,” he murmured, dropping a kiss into Jack’s fragrant curls as the boy began to suckle. “I knew I would, but…” He turned his face up to me as I caressed the back of his neck.

“I know,” he closed his eyes as I gently scratched my nails over his skin. “I know.”

“Kiss me, love.”

I leaned in to obey, savoring the taste of wine on his tongue, and the intermingled scent of his aftershave and baby shampoo. “I can stay,” I whispered against his lips when he released me.

“No,” he breathed, and I could hear the well-tethered desire in his voice. “Go have a bath. Get nice and warm and wet for me.” His eyes searched mine longingly. “I’m going to tuck this boy in, and then, I’m going to slip inside you and never leave.”

Even the near scalding hot water couldn’t stop me from shivering as I slipped beneath the surface, soaping my skin in delicious anticipation. Wrapped in soft terrycloth, I stepped into the bedroom just as he closed the door behind him. We stood silent for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes as expectation raised every hair on my body. Without a word, he lifted his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before opening his jeans. They slid down his legs and he was naked, long and lean, his cock rising lazily as he closed the distance between us. I dropped my towel as his hand caught mine, and then we were tumbling into bed together, his fingers dragging the comb from my hair to send it spilling across the pillows.

My mouth was open to welcome his tongue as he wrapped my legs around his waist, teasing the thick ridge that ran the underside of his erection against my plumped, slick lips. I raised my hands above my head to grip the headboard and his kisses shifted, travelling hot and humid down the line of my jaw, past my throat; his hands lifted my breasts to meet them. His teeth tugged at my nipples, and the sharp, stinging pain burrowed its way to my core and sending another flood of wetness to slick up the flesh that waited to take him. “Tom… Tom…” I moaned softly, hungrily. “Please…”

“I’m here, little one, I’m here,” he reassured me, and a heartbeat later he filled me, hot, hard, sliding deep and true and making my fingers grip the wooden slats in my hands until my knuckles blanched. “Fucking hell,” he shuddered above me. “I’ve missed you so much, darling… so fucking much…”

“Tom,” I rolled my body against him, gripping him tightly with my legs. “I’ve missed you. Please…” I could feel tears rising in my eyes as the hard edge I needed continued to elude me. “Please… please… please…”

“Oh, sweetheart,” his voice was loving, full of compassionate desire. One hand slid under me to cup my ass while the other slipped into my hair. Holding me tightly, he began to pump his hips, retreating until he’d almost left me, only to plunge full force to the hilt once more. His lips groped eagerly against mine, and I met him kiss for kiss, taste for taste. I nipped at his lips as he chuckled into my mouth, his fingers gripping my scalp tighter. At long last, he pulled my head back to expose my throat, and I whimpered in gratitude as he traced the line of my collar with the tip of his tongue.

He took his time, stroking me, savoring me, tasting, exploring every inch of my body as if I were made of fine, delicate glass, whispering my name into my ear, writing his love into my skin with each gentle stroke of his fingertips. I arched into his touch, bucked and twisted into his thrusts, taking his breath and his heat and pouring them into the cavern inside me that ached to be filled. There was no edge and retreat, no approach and denial, only a long, slow climb: sensation stacked upon sensation stacked upon sensation, until we stood side by side at the top of a precipice I hadn’t even realized was towering above us. Only then did his hands slide up my arms to wrest my grip from the headboard, guiding it instead around his shoulders so I could feel the straining muscles of his back, the strength and the certainty surging in electric waves through every curve of muscle, every line of sinew.

I held him as he held me, watching his eyes widen then slide shut as my walls began to clench and quiver around him, losing myself in his ecstasy as he surged harder, faster, deeper. “Michelle… Jesus Christ, darling… you feel so fucking good…”

“Tom,” I grabbed his head, suddenly desperate to have his mouth on mine. He obliged me with a strangled groan, kissing me ravenously as at last he gave in to what my body had been begging for since he’d covered it with his own. His fingers dug into my flesh as he fucked me, and I sobbed my weary gratitude into him as I stepped off the edge and fell, drifting into space with his arms holding me close and his breath filling my lungs.

He was gazing at me with unadulterated adoration when I opened my eyes once more, and I couldn’t help but smile under the glow. “Hi,” I whispered shyly.

“My love,” he chuckled softly, kissing my eyelids, the tip of my nose. “Hello.”

I smoothed my palm over his brow, down his cheek, giggled a little as he nipped at my fingertips. “Tom… I am so glad you’re home.”

He lay his forehead against mine with a soft hum. “As am I, sweet. As am I.” We nuzzled and cuddled for a few quiet moments before his mouth split in a yawn and my lids began to droop heavily. Our nest of pillows took shape quickly and easily, and he wrapped his arms around me as he spooned against my back, our legs tangling beneath the sheets. “One last before sleep,” he whispered into my hair. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours,” I whispered, shivering in his embrace. Moments later, the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing told me he had drifted off.

_Poor guy_ , I thought to myself. _He’s exhausted. All those weeks away from home… working so hard… going back to that apartment alone every night. Of course it feels off. But it’s fine, it really is fine. He’s home now, and everything is going to be fine. And it’s supposed to be about him, about being what he needs, what he wants. He’s here, he’s holding you, he’s warm and real… and he’s Tom. It’s fine._

_It’s all going to be fine._


	27. Chapter 27

I awoke with a start the following morning, sitting bolt upright and blinking in the late morning sunlight.  I was about to hurl myself from the bed in a panic until I glanced down and, seeing my own nudity underneath the sheets, realized the activity of the night before had not been some sweet, elusive dream.  

He was home.  For however briefly, Tom was home.  

As if to reassure me, his ebullient chuckle drifted through the open bedroom door, followed by a cunning string of excited jabbering that reassured me my lie-in had been well-orchestrated.  Smiling, I stretched until my spine crackled, then pushed myself from the warm linen nest he’d cocooned me in before leaving to tend to the baby.  Standing under the spray of the shower, I ran my hands over my skin, shivering when I at last found the faint points of tenderness where his fingers had held me the night before.  No visible bruises, but I shrugged off my disappointment, reminding myself we still had two full nights left for him to leave his marks all over me.

I was just rinsing my hair when I heard the creak of the bathroom door opening, and the sound of tiny hands clapping in delight. “Told you, Sprout,” Tom’s voice was warm as he bounced the boy on his hip.  “There’s your Mummy!”

I lit up at the sound, wiping the shadow of steam from the shower door to see them more clearly.  “Hello my big boy,” I cooed, laughing at his enthusiasm as he banged on the glass when Tom carried him closer.  I couldn’t resist; I slid it back and tilted my head to my husband in offering.  “And my knight in shining armor…”

“Mmm,” his hand caught the back of my head as he leaned close, accepting my mouth in a long, languid kiss.  “That was worth waiting for,” he breathed when we parted at last.

“Sorry you had to wait so long,” I grinned.

“I’m not,” he murmured nuzzling the tip of his nose against mine.  “You looked like an angel… there was no way I was waking you up.”

“I love you,” I murmured against his lips before tickling them with my tongue.  

We lost ourselves in another kiss until our son decided to get in on the action, pressing his wet little mouth to the corner of Tom’s chin.  We both laughed as he wiped away the banana flavored drool, then gave my hair a soft tug. “Come down for lunch?”

“Absolutely.”

I made a brief detour after drying off and dressing, relaxing into the rocker in the nursery with a sigh as the pump went to work, soothing the ache in my chest.  “Still got it,” I smirked to myself after expressing more than enough to satisfy Jack’s appetite, smoothing lanolin generously over the chapped skin of my nipples.  Tucking myself back in, I bounced down the stairs to join my guys in the kitchen.  I was so happy to wind my arms around Tom from behind as he stood at the sink, pressing a kiss to the center of his spine, that I almost didn’t notice the odd look of concern that flickered across his features when I moved to pour most of my haul into a larger bottle before storing the rest in the fridge.

It was a little harder to miss when, after eating and tidying our mess, I pressed first the bottle into his hand and then the baby into his arms.  “You don’t want…” He began gently.

I shook my head with a generous smile.  “He missed his Dada,” I folded my legs under me as I sank down onto the sofa.  “And his Dada missed him.”

Tom’s expression softened, and a moment later, the three of us were cuddled in the corner of the couch, Jack staring up at his father with huge eyes while listening to the story of a brave little elf on a quest through an enchanted forest of ogres and giants and large, scaly lizards in search of the violet fairy who’d stolen his heart.  When the bottle was empty and the boy was asleep, I shifted to allow Tom to rise and place him in the cradle swing next to the hearth, stretching into a feline arch of invitation when he turned back to me. His smile was lazily hungry, and I thrilled at the first sight of twitching beneath his fly.  He crossed to kneel beside the sofa, lifting my shirt to press his lips to my navel.  I slid my fingers into his hair as he lay his cheek on my belly, gazing up at me in rapt adoration.  “You are so goddamn beautiful,” he sighed.

I giggled a little, tugging gently at one silky curl.  “You ain’t so bad yourself.”

He shot me a playful smirk before lowering his mouth to the placket of my jeans.  “Should we take this upstairs?” He murmured, tugging at the denim with his teeth.

“You can take me wherever you want me, Tom,” I breathed, surprised by the thick veil of tears that suddenly crept into my throat. “Just… please… please take me.”

“Oh, my little one…” He crawled up my body, and then his mouth was on mine and his body was crushing me into the sofa and it was hot and urgent… but it was off.  Still off. I moaned desperately as his arms encircled me, crushing me to him, his tongue probing mine greedily.  He pressed his erection into the cradle of my hips, grinding against me, and I closed my eyes, silently willing us both on.

_Find the rhythm… it’s there… it’s there… it HAS to be there… just find it… find it…_

He tore his mouth from mine to rise up above me, yanking off his own t-shirt before pulling mine up as well.  “Jesus… I need your skin,” he rasped, and I darted up onto my elbows to let him strip me bare.  I tried to leave my arms above my head but he was holding them, guiding them low around his waist.  I clawed desperately at his ass through his jeans as he pressed us together once more, rocking, rubbing, kissing, groping.  His hands slipped between us to open my pants, and I scrambled to help him push them down.  Normally drenched by now, the mixed signals my body and brain had been struggling to process had left me unusually dry, but the brief, burning surge that tore through me when he pressed his long middle finger deep was the first taste of normal I’d had since opening the door to his chuckle.

It was not lost on him; his mouth released mine and he lifted his head, looking down on me in concern.  “Michelle…?”

I could feel his touch beginning to retreat and I grabbed his wrist frantically.  “No, Tom, please!  I mean… yes…” I pressed him deeper as I lifted and twisted my hips, fucking his hand without reservation or pride.  Another twinge of discomfort, and I sighed in relief, feeling the first tickling surge of arousal rushing to ease my efforts.

“There’s my girl…” His tone was more relief than triumph, but in that moment, I didn’t care.  I didn’t care if it meant he would withdraw from me and make me watch as he stroked himself off over my belly or my breasts.  I didn’t care if it meant he’d put me over his knee and guarantee I wouldn’t sit for the rest of the weekend.  I didn’t care if it meant he would edge the hell out of me for the rest of our short time together.  I needed to feel that rough urgency, that secret, paradoxical take and give that we shared; I couldn’t have stopped myself, even if I’d wanted to do so.

After a few whorish pumps of my hips he seemed to catch my desire, adding a second finger and then a third, stretching me open as I fucked myself shamelessly against his touch.  When my belly began to hitch and my legs began to shake, he lowered his mouth to my clit, circling it with his tongue until I was bucking uncontrollably beneath him, then closing his lips around it and drawing my orgasm from me like nectar from a flower.

He continued to stroke and lap at me gently as the powerful crashing waves ebbed to a calm and quiet throb, and my cheeks were flushed as I watched him withdraw.  He was power and grace as he rose to his full height above me, opening his button and zipper to reveal his own engorged desire, fully erect and leaking against his lower belly.  He took it in one hand as he stepped from his jeans, nudging my legs apart with the other. My mind was reeling as he lowered himself onto me, into me, and then there was only the ecstatic joy of his heat and his hardness, the touch of his hands and his mouth.  And in the center of it all, the voice of the weary woman who had missed her husband so terribly shouted down the questions and the confusion of the worried sub still awaiting the return of her Dom…

_It’s more than enough… he’s here… he’s with you… he’s IN you, for Christ’s sake! It’s MORE than enough… take him and love him and be grateful for him because HE is more than enough.  He’s your Dom, but he’s YOUR TOM… and he IS ALWAYS more than enough._

After, we lay in the warm silence of the afternoon sun, naked and entwined, his hands playing in my hair as his lips kissed my forehead.  I thought him on the verge of dozing off, so his voice, though soft, made me flinch a little in surprise.  “Penny for them, love.”  I swallowed hard, shrugged, snuggled a bit closer.  “Come on, little one,” he prodded.  “Something’s going on behind those lovely eyes.”  I lifted said eyes to meet his, and he offered a small, comforting nod.  “Out with it.”

I lay my cheek against his chest so he wouldn’t see me blinking back tears.  “It’s nothing, Tom.”

“It’s never nothing that furrows that brow of yours like this.”  He stroked a thumb over the lines etched into my forehead.  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I closed my eyes briefly before rising up one more. He reached to take my face in his hands, and I ran my fingertips along the muscle that hadn’t been there when he’d left me weeks before.  “It’s just…” I paused, chewed briefly on my lip. “You look so incredible.  You’ve been putting in all this work… this physical training.”  I dipped from his arms to his shoulders, over his chest and back again.  “You look like you could stop a charging bull if you had to.”

He chuckled a little, shifting next to me. “Well, thank you, love.”  He flexed the bicep my touch was exploring. “I’m waiting to hear why this is a problem.”

I sighed, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I miss these arms holding me down.”

He burst into gentle laughter that should have warmed my heart.  “Oh, Michelle,” he embraced me tightly.  “These arms missed holding you close.”  He seemed disappointed when his answer didn’t light me up, and his own brow furrowed in concern.  “Michelle… what is it, love?”

I was just opening my mouth to speak when his mobile jangled from the pocket of his jeans.  I hesitated only a heartbeat before moving to reach for them.  “I’ll get it for you.”

“Michelle…”  He pulled me back but I had already snagged the denim and was fishing his phone out to offer it to him.

“It’s okay,” I gave him a small but genuine smile. “We’ll talk about it later.”

He narrowed his gaze at me.  “Are you certain?”

_NO!  I’m NOT! Now would you stop being so fucking nice and ride my ass a little, please?_

I forced the smile to reach my eyes and nodded. “I am.  Later, okay?”

The call, as it turned out, was from Michael, and for once I was thankful for the distraction.  We wriggled back into our clothes as Tom discussed this business and that, pulling me close and dropping a kiss on top of my head before letting me head for the study.

I’d only intended to type out a few brief notes; I didn’t expect the screen to open up and swallow me the way it did.  But the next time I glanced up, the clock read 6:17, and I bolted out of my chair with a gasp.  Tom was lounging on the sofa, Jack seated on his belly; he laughed gently as I skidded into the room to snatch up the diaper bag.  “Darling, what’s the matter?”

I smiled at him sheepishly.  “Lost track of time,” I began collecting diapers and wipes and a few of Jack’s favorite toys, packing them quickly away.  “I told Emma we’d drop Jack off around seven-thirty.”

His sunny expression clouded a bit.  “Drop him off?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I nodded with a grin.  “Auntie Emmy said he could stay the whole night,” I continued to bustle about, collecting all the things I thought the baby would need. “So Mommy and Daddy are totally free! I was thinking dinner, a drink or two… maybe a little dancing…”  The words died in my throat when I caught sight of his face, drawn with quiet regret. “Tom?”  I swallowed hard.  “What’s wrong?”

He sighed heavily, then offered me a broad, if slightly sad smile.  “You wanted to go out.”

My shoulders sagged.  “Well… yeah.  I mean,” I shoved the teether I held into the bag.  “Don’t you?”

He sighed heavily, swinging his legs off the sofa and shifting Jack in his arms.  “Honestly, darling?  Not really.” He balanced the baby on his knees, holding his hands and grinning down at him.  “I’d much rather stay home with the two of you.”  His gaze when he returned it to mine was full of sweet, silent apology.  “Is that all right?”

It took everything I had to keep the cacophony that exploded in my brain from tumbling unchecked from my mouth or reading clear as newsprint all over my face.  “Well,” I took a deep breath.  “Tom… I mean… it’s been so long since we’ve done anything just the two of us…”

“Oh, I know, darling,” his voice was full of sympathetic compassion.  “It’s just… I’ve so little time home.  And it wouldn’t be just the two of us out there, you know that.”  I did know, but I bristled at his words anyway.  “Wouldn’t you rather just order in some supper and bunker down here?  Our little boy… our little world?”  

I stood silently watching him make silly faces at our son, biting back the words that boiled behind my lips until I tasted bile rising in the back of my throat.  “Yeah, okay… sure,” I managed finally, letting the bag slip from my fingers to the floor with a quiet thump.  

Jack arched a bit on Tom’s lap, drawing their joined hands to his mouth to gnaw on his knuckles.  “Look, Mummy,” Tom grinned.  “Somebody’s hungry.”

“I’ll get it,” I mumbled, moving towards the kitchen.

“No, here, darling,” Tom rose, propping one of the sofa pillows into the corner.  “Sit.”

“No, it’s okay,” I insisted thinly.  “I’ll just grab a bottle.”

“No, Michelle,” he lay a gentle hand on my elbow as I passed.  “You’ve been more than generous.  Sit, nurse him.”

“Tom,” I couldn’t help but snap as I pulled my arm away. “I don’t want to.  Just…”  I raked my fingers through my hair.  “Just sit, okay?  I’ll be right back.”  I strode stiff-backed into the kitchen, yanking the refrigerator door open and snagging the closest bottle from the shelf and screwing a nipple in place before dropping it into the warmer next to the sink.  I was leaning heavily on the counter when I felt him move in behind me. I could feel the warmth of his body, smell the oaky spice of his skin, hear the soft, whispering breaths of the baby he held in his arms, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the tide of emotion that crashed within me.

“Michelle,” the calm, worried quiet of his voice made me want to sink to the floor and curl around his feet.  “Talk to me, love.  What is the matter?  Why don’t you want to nurse?”

In a heartbeat, my overtaxed mind jumped on the flimsy thread he’d floated, clinging to it like a lifeline.  “Because, Tom,” I set my jaw as I turned.  “In case you haven’t been home enough to notice, the little bugger has teeth now, and sometimes, it really fucking hurts.”

I’d thought playing that card would cut, and it did; he winced guiltily, then drew in a deep breath, steeling himself before speaking again.  “Sweet, I’m so sorry.”  He cuddled Jack closer for a moment, the infant goggling up at him and cooing in adoration.  “But…”

“But what, Tom?”

His brows quirked a bit at my abrupt sass, and I held my breath, only to let it out in a watery sigh when he took a step back. “But…” he paused, as if choosing his words carefully.  “Look, I can see you’ve been pumping.  But if you don’t actually put him to breast,” his eyes held mine steadily.  “Won’t your supply drop?”

His calm and logical demeanor was slowly eroding my own. Before I realized it, I’d planted a self-righteous hand on my hip.  “What exactly am I supposed to do, Tom?  Let the kid hang off my chest until kindergarten?”

He flashed brief blue fire at me.  “There’s no need for sarcasm, Michelle, I can imagine it gets frustrating for you.”

“Good.”  I knew I was pushing, but seeing little sign of the firm-handed Tom I missed so desperately, I just couldn’t stop myself.

A shadow crossed over his face briefly before he set his own shoulders in a determined line.  “I’m simply worried, darling.  I don’t want to see this experience come to too soon an end for you, especially after we worked so hard to make it a success…”

“We?” I blanched, knowing what he meant, charging ahead anyway.  “I’m sorry… did I hear you say ‘we’?”

Something passed between us in that moment; I could almost hear the snap when he disengaged from me.  “This is not going to happen, Michelle.”  With cool resolve, he side-stepped me, plucking the bottle from the warmer.  

“And what exactly does that mean?”  I demanded.

“It means,” he shifted the boy on his hip, Jack’s big eyes and unusually silent gape too obvious to miss.  “That this is about to get ugly.  And I will not have that, not on one of my few nights home.”  His tone, calm, steady, tinged with compassion only served to ratchet my anger higher.  “I understand, better than you think I do, how trying these last weeks have been for you.  And I am willing to be reasonable, but I am not willing to waste my few precious hours here bickering back and forth.”  He took a deep breath, held it a moment, and exhaled slowly.  “You need some time out, I understand.  You go.  Do whatever you like.  We will be waiting for you when you’re ready.”  With that, he turned on his heel and left the kitchen; a moment later, I listened to his footfalls as he climbed the stairs.

I wanted to go after him, but to do what?  To throw myself into his arms and sob apologies? To beg and plead for him just put all else aside and spank me until his arm was tired and his hand was sore and I was so wrung out all I could do was breathe?  To sit beside him and quietly ask the questions that terrified me beyond all others…  _do you know the things they say? Do you agree with them? Is it… not us anymore?  Is it time to let this go?_

I actually had my hand on the bannister, one foot on the first step, before my fear and anger and helpless confusion overtook me.  Snatching my keys from the entry table, I fled out the door and into the beautiful evening dim.

“Michelle?”  Emma’s bright smile first quirked, then vanished when she saw me red-eyed and empty armed.  “Wh-where’s the baby?  Where’s Tom?” Her arms went around me at my hapless shrug, and she was drawing me into the flat.  “Come inside, come inside… oh, sissy, what’s wrong?”

Chris was tucked into the corner of their sofa, on his feet in a flash when he saw her ushering me to sit down.  “Hey, gorgeous, you okay?” He tousled my hair gently as I offered him a weak, embarrassed smile.  

I buried my head in my hands, trying to ignore their quiet exchange as they scuttled from the room, him asking if there was anything he should do, Emma urging him to give us a moment.  I was worrying my thumbnail between my teeth when she took her spot next to me, filling a glass with fragrant burgundy before handing it over. “Thought this might go down better than tea,” she said softly before tucking her legs up underneath her. I snorted a small laugh before taking a sip, then another. When I finally lay my head back against the overstuffed cushions, she rubbed a gentle hand over my shoulder.  “Michelle… what’s the matter?”

I sighed pathetically, closing my eyes and feeling the tears scald their way down my cheeks.  “It’s all sideways, Em,” I said at last.  “He’s home… and he’s so wonderful.  He was early, and so happy.  He’s been so great with the baby, and Jack is so excited to have his daddy back.  And he brought me roses and he’s letting me rest and he’s been so warm and so gentle and I love him so much and he’s home… but I still miss him, Emma!  How can that be?  How can he be here, be home, and I still miss him so much?”

“Oh, sissy,” she wrapped her arms around mine, laying her head on my shoulder.  “I’m so sorry.”  Her words and expression were sweetly sympathetic, but I could see my own confusion shining back at me through her eyes.  “I can’t imagine that it’s not at least a little difficult to readjust.  I mean, it must feel like it’s been just you and Jack for ages.  And Tom… well, he’s been bumping along all on his own.”  She tucked a lock of my hair back behind my ear.  “I’d think it normal for you two to have to scrape along one another’s edges a bit to find the fit again, right?”

“But Emma,” I blurted out.  “It’s not just that…”

She cocked her head, concern etching deeper into the lines on her face.  “Then what is it, Michelle?”

I met her eye as evenly as I could.  But even as our gazes locked, I knew I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t say it.  Not out loud.  And it wasn’t just the realization that I owed it to my husband to broach such a painful and important topic with him before anyone else; it was the sudden understanding that I was nowhere near prepared to handle the loss.  

And in less than thirty-six hours, I was going to have to kiss Tom goodbye and go back to managing our life, our son, alone.  

I grabbed for my glass, spilling a few drops onto my jeans as I took a deep swallow.  I could feel the storm as it raged over the landscape of my face: sadness, worry, doubt, denial, but I just didn’t have it in me to keep the mask in place. And even as I swiped the tears from my cheeks, offering my sister a lame smile and a murmured, “It’s nothing… I’m just tired…” I knew she’d seen it all.

She wound her arm around my shoulders, her eyes boring into mine.  “Are you certain?”  I could hear the unspoken message in her words: _Michelle, I’m not going to push.  But you can trust me.  You can talk to me.  It’s all right._

I forced my smile to widen a bit.  “Yes, I’m fine.”   _I can’t Em.  Not yet._

“Okay,” she hugged me briefly.  “Well, why don’t you give him a call?  It’s not too late for him to bring the boy over.  You two could sneak out for a quick bite, or even just hang out here with me and the lug.”

“No,” I swiped my hands over my cheeks once more. “He was very clear about wanting a night in, and about my getting out to break the cabin fever.”

“Well then,” she leaned over to refill my glass. “Why don’t you sit back and let me fill you in on a right juicy bit of gossip…”

I spent the next two hours listening to her chatter away about the running intrigue in her theater group: the love triangle, the jealous understudy, on and on while Chris slid onto the sofa behind her, maneuvering her into his lap and occasionally pulling teasing faces as she babbled.   I can’t honestly say any of it made me feel better, but I was at least balanced enough to face the drive home, and the climb up the stairs to our bedroom. Jack was asleep in his bassinet, and I couldn’t help but grin wistfully as I realized just how quickly he was growing.  Tucking the thin blanket around him, I kissed one plump little cheek and whispered “I love you” into his ear.

In the bed beside him, my Tom.  Deeply asleep, one hand tucked behind his head, the other arm draped across his belly.  I wanted to strip away my clothes and crawl in beside him, wrap myself around him, beg him for his hands and teeth and cock.  More than anything, I wanted his command, his control, something to remind me of his place and mine, something to assure me that he hadn’t forgotten. And in that moment, the dowager’s voice, dark and bitter in the back of my mind.  

_He wouldn’t forget._

Unable to hold back any longer, I pressed my hand to my mouth as I fled, sobbing my fears and frustrations into the soft, cool pillows of the sofa.  I pressed my face deep into the plush, beat the cushions childishly with my fists. Everything was dark and angry quiet, and I poured out my misery until I was empty, limp, and too exhausted to care.

It was his hands on my body that roused me hours later.  The room was dark and silent, no moon in the sky to spill its light through the open curtains.  It didn’t matter; I didn’t need to see him.

I could feel him.

The urgency of his hands as they tugged my jeans and panties down together.  The determination of his fingers as they worked the buttons of my blouse, the clasp of my bra.  The heat of his body as he loomed over me, the whisper of his breath as his mouth brushed against mine.  My eyes adjusted to the dim in time to meet his, intense and demanding.  “Tom,” my voice was hoarse, still thick with tears and raw from my tantrum.  “You don’t have to…”

“Shut the fuck up, Michelle.”

His tone.   _That tone_.  The dark and velvety gravel I’d longed to hear. Strained, as if it were bubbling out against his will.  But  _there._  And then, his arms around me, moving me, turning me.  Not swift and smooth, more grasping and desperate.  His hands on my wrists, guiding them to the arm of the sofa as his body pushed up behind me, forcing me to my knees.  His cock, hot and hard in the cleft of my ass.  I moaned softly, and his fingers trailed up my arm to catch my hair, pulling it aside to bare my neck.  His voice, low and urgent in my ear.  “Tell me, Michelle…”

“Oh, God, Tom,” I wept softly, pushing back against him.  “I’m yours… please, please, please… let me be yours.”

He exhaled a strangled moan, his grip dropping once again to my wrist.  Braiding his fingers through mine so he could anchor my hands to the armrest, he shifted his hips.  

And this time, as his mouth closed on his spot beneath my ear, his hungry grunt dusting through my brain, I was warm and wet to welcome him.

*          *          *          *          *

“You skipped your run.”

The golden morning light spilled through the bedroom window, casting our shadows long on the wall.  Tom’s heart thumped briefly beneath my ear, his arms tightening around me as he kissed the top of my head.  “Running would have meant getting out of bed.  Getting out of bed would have meant letting go of you.”  My head lifted on the rise of his deep inhale, then sank again as he let the air out in a slow, shuddering sigh.  “I’m not letting go of you until I absolutely have to.” I lifted my face to his, smiling the most comfortable smile I’d had since he’d come home, and he mirrored it back at me in pained gratitude.  “My little one…”

I shivered at the words and crawled up to offer him my mouth; he accepted eagerly, one hand caressing my jaw as the other slid into my hair.  It wasn’t rough, it wasn’t forceful, but his grip was strong and sure, and I melted into it as he rolled us carefully, me onto my back, him on his side above me. His palm slid from my neck, down the plane of my body to catch my knee and draw it up over his hip, and I wrapped my arms around him as the kiss deepened, then ended.  His eyes searched mine, and I swallowed hard.  “Michelle… my love… I know something is wrong.”  I sighed heavily, but while his grip in my hair was gentle, it was firm enough to keep me from turning away.  “I can’t understand why you won’t talk to me… why you won’t tell me what you’re feeling.”

I bit my lower lip briefly.  I didn’t want to talk about it, and yet, I knew I wouldn’t be true to the life I was terrified to lose if I didn’t yield to him as I should. “I…” I sighed heavily, willing back the tears that prickled the back of my eyes.  “I feel… off, Tom.  Disjointed… disconnected.”  His brow quirked sorrowfully, and I stroked a hand over his scruffy cheek.  “I mean… it kind of makes sense, doesn’t it?  We’ve never done this before, been so at the mercy of a separation.  Even if you couldn’t come to me, I could always come to you, if we really needed it. Now,” I shrugged helplessly. “We’re stuck.”  The knot in my stomach loosened a little as he nodded in silent agreement.  “You have to be there.  I have to be here.  I have to take care of Jack all by myself, you have to live with not being with him at all.  Doesn’t it just make sense that…?” I trailed off, unwilling to go deeper, lest he agree with me and open a can of worms I still felt ill-prepared to wrangle. “Things would be a little off?”

“It does,” he mused softly, tasting my lips briefly with his own.  But just as quick, his gaze shifted back to mine, laser focused.  “But… darling… are you certain that’s all it is?”  He could sense my reticence to talk, and he nudged at me with his body as well as his words.  “Michelle, please… my little bird… I can’t leave you if you aren’t all right.”

At that, the tears sprang unchecked to my eyes, but I managed a small reassuring smile as they crept down my temples to wet my hair. “Listen to me,” my palm returned to his cheek, and he turned his face to press his lips against it.  “I don’t know if I’m all right.  But I do know this: I love you.  I love our son.  I am yours, and I am here to be whatever you want me to be, whatever you need me to be.” I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I made you a promise, Tom, to see you through this project.  And I am going to see you through this project.  And now,” I guided his mouth briefly to mine.  “I will make you another promise.”  I held his gaze firmly with my own.  “If I still feel off when this is all over and you are home to stay, we will talk about it.  But Tom, please,” I kissed him again.  “For now… just hold me.  Love me. And let me keep my promise.”

“My love…”  The words were barely out of his mouth before it was sealed against mine. His grip tightened on my leg, against my scalp, and I was gasping, my eyes flying open wide as he thrust into me, hard and fast.  “You keep that promise,” he growled.  “Do you understand me?   _You keep that promise_.”

Winding my arms around him, I clung to him as he fucked me, hard, desperate, and it suddenly occurred to me that there might be things my strong, certain husband was keeping at bay as well.  Pushing the thought from my mind, I opened, surrendered, took the comfort he offered as he drove us both to the release we needed.  

He was panting, sweaty against my breast, when Jack’s morning howl curled his lips in a grin.  “Got quite the set of pipes, hasn’t he?”  He dropped a peck on my mouth before sliding from the bed, and I whistled in playful appreciation as he slipped into a pair of boxer briefs before heading down the hall.  He returned a moment later with the baby in tow, and curled around us both as I put my son to nurse.  He chided the boy gently every time I winced or hissed at the contact of his sharp little teeth, kissing my temple and cheek to soothe and encourage.  We lounged in bed well after the feeding was complete, finally rising to enjoy a playful family shower before dressing.  

Lunch in his mother’s garden was a welcome change of scenery, and we lingered at the table, chatting while Jack rolled and played on a blanket spread in the shade.  We took the scenic route home, stopping by the market to make sure I had plenty to stock the fridge and pantry.  And after a dinner of thin steaks Tom seared on the stove, we curled together on the sofa for one last bottle and bedtime story.  “He’s so gorgeous, love,” he murmured, smoothing a hand over Jack’s curls after tucking him into his crib.  “You’ve done such an amazing job taking care of him on your own.”

I smiled up at him before leaning into his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He leaned close, nuzzling against my neck. “You smell incredible.”

The heat of his desire washed over me and I closed my eyes to try and stay steady on my feet as I grazed my mouth against his cheek. “You’re so warm.”

His hand slid down my arm, his fingers tangled through mine.  “Come on.”

I was drunk with need for him by the time we reached our own room; it was easy and natural to slip to my knees in front of him as the door clicked shut behind us.  “Michelle,” his hands tugged gently in my hair but I already had his fly open, drawing his trousers down his thighs.  “Michelle… oh, Christ…” His longing gasp was lyrical as I swirled my tongue around his blushing crown, wetting his skin completely before drawing him between my lips.  “Fuck… darling…  _fuck_ …”

Drawing him into my throat, I moved my arms behind me, crossing my wrists at the small of my back.  His eyes flashed at the sight, and for one horrifying moment, I thought he was going to retreat from me entirely.  But then his lips curled in a quiet smile, and I could feel my own juices flowing to soak my panties as he began to rock, using me for his pleasure. I let him set the rhythm, and even though it was slower and sweeter than I may have chosen, it sent a shuddering wave of peace through my body.  I worked my mouth over him, around him, hollowing my cheeks, flickering my tongue as he slid deep, then back, until we were both trembling from head to toe.  “Stop… stop… stop,” he pulled free, taking my shoulders and pulling me to my feet.  He crushed me to him, kissing me hungrily as he led me to the bed.

It wasn’t long until we were nothing but skin and hands and mouths, losing ourselves in the touch and stroke and tease and taste.  He lifted me, turned me, sitting me in his lap with my back to his chest.  His hands cupped my breasts as he filled me from behind, making me squeal and sob and shudder in his embrace.  “Let me hold you, love…”We rocked together slowly for hours, climbing the peaks together, only to back down just as slowly, knowing that on the other side of sex was sleep.

And on the other side of sleep… was goodbye.

We stood in the doorway in the dim before sunrise, clinging to one another, trying to wring every minute of closeness as fully as we could.  Our tears mingled silently as we kissed, once, again, more, Jack chewing quietly on his fist as Tom rocked him between us.  “Six more weeks, love,” he tugged on a lock of my hair.  “Six more weeks, and then a long, sweet summer.”

I smiled through my sorrow.  “The baby and the beach…”

He grinned as well.  “The sun and the sand…”

I stole another kiss.  “I love you, Tom.”

“I love you, little one.”  He wound his arms around me tightly.  “Tell me, my love.”

A tiny sob escaped my throat.  “I’m yours, Tom.  Forever and ever.  Forever and…” His mouth pressed against mine, swallowing the words, drawing strength from them, breathing it back into me as a last gift before parting.  

“I love you,” he whispered as he let me go.  “I love you, I love you, I love you.”  He shifted the baby into my arms, kissing his cheeks and forehead.  “And I love you, Sprout.  Don’t grow too much while Daddy’s gone this time, eh?”  Jack whined a little as I took him, his little fingers grasping the lapel of Tom’s shirt.  “No, no, my boy,” he plucked his hand free, pressing kisses to it as he grappled to maintain his composure.  “Steady on, Mummy’s got you.”

“I’ve got you, Jack-Jack,” I stroked his hair as I nuzzled his cheek.  “It’s okay…”

Tom stepped down onto the porch, and Jack surprised us both by letting loose a wail that ripped my heart in two inside my chest. “No, buddy, no.”  Tom darted back to my side, rubbing the baby’s back, kissing the top of his head, his eyes wide and sad and pleading with mine.  “I’m sorry, my loves, I’m sorry… I’m so, so fucking sorry…”

“It’s okay, Tom,” I grabbed his neck and pulled him close, speaking into his mouth as softly as I could and still be heard over Jack’s crying.  “It’s okay… we’ll be okay… I promise you, Tom.   _I promise you_.  We will be fine.”

“I love you, Michelle,” he whispered fiercely.  

“I love you,” I nuzzled my nose against him, somehow managing to smile as my tears flowed faster.  “So much, Tom, so much.”  He kissed me once more, and I nudged him tenderly towards the waiting car. “Go…”

“Michelle…”  His eyes searched mine, agonized, and I nodded, stroking his cheek.

“I love you,” I repeated.  “I’ll keep my promise.  Now go… please, go.  And come home soon.”

For a moment, he hovered, and I was torn between pushing him further and pulling him back inside.  And then, finally, after kissing our boy one last time, he turned and strode quickly down the steps, folding himself into the backseat with weary resolve.  Jack’s howl rose, died as he shuffled in air, then rose again, his little arms stretched towards the man who waved at him from the open window.  “Don’t cry, Jack-Jack,” he called as the vehicle eased its way down the drive.  “Mummy’s got you… Mummy’s got you, and Daddy will be back soon.  I love you… I love you… I love you both…”

His words echoed back in the still of the early morning as I stood in the doorway, rocking my sobbing son, letting my own tears fall into his curls.  I lingered there well after the car had vanished from sight, watching the first light of the sun crest on the horizon.  By then, Jack had burrowed into my chest, his breath coming in the ragged stacks that plague a child after a gut-wrenching bawl.  Patting his rump, I turned with a sigh, and closed the door on the breaking English dawn.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the words of my friend and beautiful, badass beta geminiloveca: “Ouch. Big aching ouch.” And so I’m going to take this moment to once again thank you all for coming along on this journey with me, and with Tom and Michelle. And I’m offering all of you a promise of my own: the story is NOT OVER. Please bear with me, with us, just a little longer and I promise, it will be worth it in the end. Got Kleenex? Then let’s begin.

“All right, Monster, if this crap stains, you owe me a new shirt…”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I stood at the sink, rinsing the last of the dinner dishes as Evans wiped a wet napkin at the raspberry puree Jack’s own raspberry had sent spattering across the front of his t-shirt.  Emma pulled a face and slapped exasperatedly at his broad shoulder.  “Don’t say ‘crap’ to my nephew,” she sniffed.

“Oh, come on, babe,” Chris nudged her with his elbow.  “These are registered Patriot threads here.”

I watched for an amused moment as he scrubbed a bit harder at the white polyester, succeeding only in making the small crimson spot a much larger pink one.  “Ugh,” I shook my head, flicking water and suds from my fingers before holding out my hand.  “You’re only making it worse, Cap.  Just hand it over.”

He sighed heavily before dropping a playful wink at my sister.  “She just wants to see me in my undie-shirt,” he teased as he pulled the jersey over his head, revealing white cotton bedecked with the iconic star-spangled shield.

I rolled my eyes as I took the garment from him.  “Could you be just a little more cliché?”  I snarked affectionately as I headed for the laundry room.

Much as I loved ribbing the two of them, thoughts of exactly how much of a blessing Chris and Emma had turned out to be were never far from my mind.  After my and Tom’s aborted night out and my subsequent meltdown in her living room, Emma had stopped waiting for me to call for help, stopped offering her assistance over the phone or through text.  She would simply show up three or four times a week, often with her handsome beau in tow.  Sometimes they would spend the day hanging out at the house, providing adult conversation and helping me with chores.Sometimesthey would sweep Jack out to the park, or to Diana’s, or to some other activity while I napped or shopped or tried to write.  It didn’t sit well with me at first; after all, Jack was only one baby, a rather hearty and healthy one, and I honestly thought it absurd that I not manage his care myself.  But Emma insisted that it was as good for her as it was for me, and after relenting a time or two, I couldn’t help but believe her.

The one thing I did know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was that it was very good for me and Tom.

He’d called my phone the moment he was back in his apartment in Dubrovnik, hugely relieved to hear Jack recovered from his tantrum and babbling happily in the background.  We cooed to and comforted one another before he told me the pending night shoot would make a Skype session unlikely.  Then he called me again at two in the morning anyway to talk me to a sleepy yet satisfying orgasm I still sometimes think may have been a dream.

From there we groped our way to a new rhythm of work and Skype and sex and sleep that was challenging, yet comforting all the same.  The distance between us seemed to help him find the firm hand that had been missing when we were together, and that glimpse of the possibility that my life could once again be what it had been, was, more than anything else, what gave me the strength to go on.  Still, every conversation ended with Tom reminding me of my promise, and my gladly renewing it. 

Now, from my spot leaning against the washing machine, I listened to my sister and (by now I was certain) future brother-in-law as they hauled my sticky progeny from his high chair to the upstairs bathroom.  I heard the water running in the tub, followed by a shriek of Jack’s laughter, and the sounds of playful splashing.  My text alert chimed from my pocket, and my own mouth curled in a smile to see Tom’s name flashing up at me:

“ _Are they gone yet_?”

I giggled a little as I typed out my reply: “ _Nope.  Bathing the baby_.”

“ _Kick them out_.”

I laughed out loud.  “ _No way!  Then **I** have to bathe the baby_.”

“ _He had a bath yesterday.  I need to see your soft, pink pussy_.”

I shuddered at the words, shifting on my feet as the blood rushed to fill the very spot he’d referenced.  “ _You saw my pussy yesterday_ …”

“ _I need to see it again_.”

“ _Well, the baby needs a bath again_ …”

There was a long pause.  And then…  “ _Need a bit of an edge tonight, cheeky girl_?”

I bit down on my bottom lip.  “ _Ohhhh Sir… yes, please…”_

It felt like an eternity passed from the moment I slipped my phone back into my pocket until I finally waved goodbye from the front step to the retreating taillights of Emma’s car, but in reality, it was less than an hour.  I closed and bolted the door with trembling fingers then started up the stairs, hurrying my stride when I heard the chime of Skype from the laptop in the bedroom.  I barely had the application activated when he was growling, gloriously hungry, through the speakers.  “Tell me they’re gone…”

“They’re gone,” I sighed, adjusting the angle of my screen, then giggled as I noticed him staring smugly into his own, which I realized was most likely offering him an up close and personal view of my cleavage.  “It’s just the two of us,” I purred, trailing a fingertip down into the vee and back up again. 

He lounged back against his headboard, giving me better perspective.  He was lying on his bed with his laptop resting on his thighs.  He hadn’t showered yet; his black oxford was open and unbuttoned, as was the fly of his trousers.  I could just see the outline of his cock through the black linen to the left of his zipper, and the planes of toned muscle under his golden skin.  “Well, then, my love,” he grinned, tracing his own fingers over his collarbone.  “It seems you are overdressed.”

I eased slowly back onto the mattress, propping myself up on my elbows.  “Am I now?”

“Yes, little one, you are.”  His tongue played briefly at the corner of his mouth.  “You know I love that blouse…”

“This old thing?” I scoffed playfully, plucking at the ruffled collar of the tank shirt.    


“Mmm-hmm,” he nodded, and I could see his fingers rubbing together almost imperceptibly.  “That silk is so soft.  Your body makes it so warm.”  My own hand flattened unconsciously against my belly, stroking the landscape as his eyes crawled leisurely over it.  “See?”  He chuckled quietly.  “Impossible to resist.”  He shifted a bit against his pillows.  “Slide both hands up, darling.  Squeeze those gorgeous breasts for me.”  I obeyed, breathing a bit faster through parted lips, exhaling a squeaky sigh when I saw his hardening cock just peeking through the opening of his slacks.  “Trace your fingertips around your nipples, love… see if you can make them as hard as I could, if I were there playing with you.”

I fought the urge to close my eyes and let my head fall back on my neck, instead locking my gaze on the thick rise of muscle and flesh that strained the confines of his pants more and more as my fingers did his bidding.  The lace of my bra under the silk of my shirt provided a delicious contrast of sensations, and I flushed pink as I felt a few drops of my letdown darken the fabric in small circles.  “Gorgeous,” I could hear the honeyed smile in his voice.  “Look at those stiff, wet little peaks.  What I wouldn’t give, love, to catch one between my teeth while my fingers twist and tug the other.” I moaned softly as his control took hold, his voice moving my hands as easily as if he were holding them, maneuvering them himself.  “Buttons, darling,” he purred.  “Slowly.”

I arched my back as I plucked each little disc free from its hole, shivering as the fabric slithered smoothly down my shoulders.  The clasp of my bra was a tiny rose between my breasts; I sighed in relief when at last he directed me to flip it open.  “Good God, Michelle, you are exquisite.”  I could hear the soft whisper of linen as he slid his hand into his fly, teasing me by palming his erection without actually pulling it free from his trousers for me to admire.  “Imagine me kneeling over you, love,” he murmured urgently.  “Sliding my cock between your breasts, pushing towards your mouth.”  I cupped and squeezed my flesh as I obeyed, almost able to feel the heat of him, almost able to smell his skin and his sweat.  “My hands pushing them close, my thumbs teasing those hard, wet little nipples… Jesus, I bet you taste divine.”  He paused only for the tiniest of breaths.  “Tell me, love… where else are you dripping for me?”

My mind blushed demurral, but he was in my head, and the words tumbled from my mouth without hesitation.  “My pussy, Tom.”

“I said,” I wriggled a little in delight at the warning edge in his tone.  “Tell.  Me.”

“My pussy is dripping for you, Tom.”

The satisfaction in his smile wrapped around me like velvet.  “Show me, little one.”

My fingers were shaking as I plucked open the snap of my jeans, pulling the plackets aside to reveal panties made of crisscrossed lines of silk ribbon that held the tiniest wisp of lace over my sex.  “Oh, fucking Christ, I love those.”  I knew he did, knew he loved to drag them down my legs and lay above me, tracing the lines they’d leave on my skin with his tongue.  Kicking the denim to the floor, I spread myself before him, basking in his intake of breath as he looked upon the full effect his influence had on me.  “Completely soaked,” he mused, pleased.  “Such a good little girl.”  My hands pressed low against my belly, trying to quell the screaming ache as I waited for him to direct, to instruct.  “Oh, fuck…”

The expletive was right, but the tone was all wrong.  I snapped my eyes back into focus to see him grinning sheepishly into the camera.  “I’m so, so, so sorry, my darling,” he apologized as his hand reached for the mouse.  “Email.”

My shoulders sagged.  “Email?”  I watched him clicking away at his desktop.  “Email?!  I’m lying here, wet and willing, spread on display, and you’re going to check your fucking _email_?  Jesus, I must be losing my touch…”  Frustrating as it was to pause at such a delicate place in our game, I couldn’t keep the good-natured teasing lilt out of my voice.  I knew he’d been waiting for weeks to hear from Studio Canal after positively salivating over the newest version of _Much Ado About Nothing_ that they were planning for release during the following year’s holiday season.  And while everyone from Michael to Luke to myself was certain Tom was the absolute perfect Benedick, it was never in my husband’s nature to assume anything was a done deal.  I saw his eyes light in recognition and I sat a bit straighter.  “Is it there?”

“Message from Howard Warren, head of casting,” he grinned, and I chewed a bit on my lower lip as I watched him open the letter to read. 

After only a few flickers of his eyes, I could tell the news wasn’t what he was hoping.  “Tom?  What is it?”

His voice was soft, almost painfully chagrined.  “I didn’t get it.”

My jaw gaped in disbelief.  “Wh-what?”

He was shaking his head by now, disappointment sinking into the lines of his brow.  “I didn’t get it.”

“But,” I stammered, my stomach twisting for him.  “I… I don’t understand.  Why?”

“’While we are most grateful for your interest and markedly impressed by your catalogue of work, we sense a distinct difference in artistic vision, and feel it best to proceed in a different direction with a different performer’.”  He slumped back against the pillow.

“But...”  I could feel my brow furrowing in angry confusion on his behalf.  “What does that even mean?  That doesn’t tell you anything…”

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his curls.  “That, I’m afraid, love, is the nature of the business.  They’re the producers, the ones with the money.”  He shrugged, a hint of weariness settling on his broad shoulders.  “They don’t have to give a reason at all if it doesn’t suit them.”

I ached to reach out and actually touch him, to pull the hard and solid warmth of him against my body, to wrap around him like a blanket and draw him into me where he could shut out everything else.  “Tom… I’m so sorry.”

His eyes met mine, he offered me a sad little smile.  “Thank you, my sweet.”  He barked a rueful little laugh.  “Guess I really botched our evening, didn’t I?”  He scruffed at his hair once more.  “Maybe we should just get some sleep and try again tomorrow…”

“Please, Tom, no…”

The words were soft, so soft I wasn’t certain he’d hear me.  But something in my voice, some cracking urgency seemed to silence the rest of the world around us.  He leaned close into the camera, his features etched with concern.  “Darling?”

“Please, Tom,” my tone was watery but my eyes were dry.  “Please don’t go.  I miss you so much.”  I gulped in air, swallowed it down.  “I need you, Tom… we need this.  Please?”  I saw uncertainty dancing at the corners of his eyes and mouth.  “If we sign off now, we’re just going to lie in bed alone, missing each other, feeling miserable.”  I squared my shoulders, but bowed my head.  “Please don’t leave me like this, Tom.  I love you… I need you… please.  Stay with me just a little while?”

I don’t know what I expected, a weary sigh, a gentle laugh.  I do know that the mixture of absolute pride and undeniable authority that I heard in his words washed over me like the tide, dragging me under so fast I had almost no hope of finding my way to surface.  “Look at me, Michelle.”  I lifted my head to see his brow smooth and calm, his jaw relaxed, his eyes ablaze.  And his mouth?  Quirked with just the faintest hint of a smile. 

“Take off your panties, little one, and show me what’s mine.”

I couldn’t wait to drown.

It was later, long after the sultry sound of his voice and the sweet spasms of the orgasm he’d edged me to had fallen quiet and still, when the empty space that was Tom’s side of the bed forced me to come up for air.  Exhausted and wrung out, I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and trying to will myself to sleep.  But every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Tom’s face falling as he read the rejection he’d prayed wouldn’t come.  And even though I knew he’d found a culmination of his own at least as intense as mine, I also knew that, like mine, his bed was half empty as well.  Grabbing his pillow, I wrapped myself around it, burying my face in his scent as I tried to reassure myself enough to rest.

_He’ll be okay.  It’s not like this is his first rejection ever.  And he was already letting it go._

I smiled to myself, remembering the timbre of his voice as he commanded my body, the tic in his jaw as he paced his own hand stroking over his cock.  But then, from the recesses of my mind, the dowager’s voice that diminished but never really departed…

_But this was a big one.  THE big one.  He’d have dropped every other offer for this one, and you know it._

I actually caught myself covering my ears.

_Yes, it’s disappointing.  And yes, I’m sure it hurts.  But it will be fine… he will be fine.  I mean… okay… it would be easier to swallow if they’d given a reason why instead of some bullshit party line.  But… it’s Tom.  He’s the strongest person I know.  He’ll be fine._

I hovered in the dark, finally on the brink of the abyss of sleep, waiting for her next cutting quip.  When it didn’t come, I settled deeper into his pillow with a sigh.  But as my eyes closed, as I stepped off the edge and tumbled into the ether, another voice followed me down.  Whispered, shapeless, soundless, the voice of everyone and no one.  The voice that had plagued me since I’d invited it in all those weeks ago with a simple click of my mouse.

_Maybe this is WHY he’s not doing much lately…_

_Maybe THIS is why…_

Two weeks that should have flown by instead dragged out in agonizing ticks of the clock that seemed louder and louder as they passed slower and slower.  This last push of filming covered the story’s climactic final clash, and without the confines of stage or theater, Tom’s Richard III was pushing his every talent and skill to the absolute brink.  He still appeared on my screen every evening, still soothed our boy to sleep with stories and songs and silly little games.  But more and more often I would catch him yawning, or outright dozing, as he waited for me to join him without distractions.  He would smile blearily and shower me with praise and affectionate thanks every time I reassured him it was okay to say goodbye earlier than planned, and then we would sign off, he taking Richard’s ghosts to bed with him while I tucked in with my own. 

Four days until home, and he was vibrating with adrenaline, so much so that I could feel it through the wires and circuitry and miles that kept us apart.  Even Jack seemed to sense it, fighting sleep to the bitter end when I finally had to lay him in his crib to fuss out the last of his energy.  Closing my bedroom door on his waning whimpers, I crawled onto the bed, folding my legs under me before propping the laptop in front of me.  Tom didn’t even notice I’d returned; I spent long minutes watching the intensity of his expression as he reviewed his script, pausing every now and then to scribble furiously in the margins.  At last, he glanced up and, seeing me gazing at him through his screen, flushed apologetically.  “Michelle, my love, forgive me…”

“No, no,” I murmured, waving a hand of dismissal.  “I love watching you work.”

He snorted a bit.  “I worked all day… I should put this aside.”

“No, Tom,” I insisted gently.  “I mean it.  I love watching you.”  I smiled as his head lifted proudly.  “Besides,” I shifted a little, settling into the pillows.  “It looks like, whatever it is, it’s really important.”

“It is,” he nodded solemnly, flipping from page to page.  “It’s the most important window you get in to Richard’s soul, I think, the one moment in the entire play where he truly faces his circumstances.”  He lifted his gaze back to the computer, and laughed a little when his eyes met mine.  “You’re a rapt little audience of one.”

“What can I say, Hiddleston?”  I shrugged.  “Watching you talk Shakespeare gets me hot.”

His buoyant “Eheheheheh” rumbled through my speakers.  “Well, this particular scene does take place in bed,” he drawled.  “But it isn’t very sexy, I’m afraid.”  His attention fell to the script once more.  “He wakes from a nightmare, you see.  And he’s realizing that all he fears is real, all he dreads shall come to pass, and no amount of prayer or self-examination or remorse can change the course he’s on.  _I have set my life upon a cast, and I will stand the hazard of the die._ ”  He exhaled softly through his nose.  “Can’t imagine a lonelier place to be, can you?”  Our eyes met once more, and his expression twisted a bit.  “Maybe you can.”

I hadn’t realized I’d started to cry until the tears fell from my cheeks onto my hands.  “I love you, Tom.”

“Sweet little one,” he reached to trace my features on his screen.  “Please don’t cry.  We’re down to the last of it now… it’s almost over.”

“I know, Tom.” I nodded, trying to smile as the weight of words meant to comfort settled around my shoulders like lead.  “I know.”

  
I spent the next four days in a strange, silent stasis, forcing myself to come to terms with the promise I’d made to Tom, the first one I could remember wanting desperately to break.  Numbly putting one foot in front of the other, and aided by the sixteen hour days that left him too tired to think, I moved the pieces into place.  Jack spent the day and night before Tom’s return with Emma and Chris, so that I could sleep, and contemplate, and sleep some more.  I did the shopping early morning before fetching him from their flat, prepped dinner while he played in his highchair, napped with him so we would both be as well rested as possible when Tom came sweeping through the door.

At ten minutes after seven, just as the aroma of the roasting potatoes began to waft from the kitchen, a flash of headlights from the end of the driveway heralded his return.  I bounced to my feet, smoothing down my dress with trembling hands.  A perfect vision sprang briefly to my mind, the worn and weary vixen narrating from her corner…

_Maybe he’ll charge through that door and scoop you up, fling you over his shoulder and drag you upstairs.  Maybe he’ll throw you to the bed, cuff you down, and not leave you any choice in the matter of how you spend his first night home… his every night home… Maybe…_

The soft crunch of tires at the top of the drive.  A car door opening, closing.  His voice, close, getting closer.  “I’ve got it from here, thanks so much, mate!”  The metallic chunk of the bolt sliding back.

_Please… oh, please, Tom… please…_

And then we were face to face, staring each other down across a cavern of eight feet that felt wider than the ocean that had separated us before we met.  His suitcase stopped it’s rolling with a click, his garment bag and satchel hit the floor with a soft thud.  His eyes were bright, his fingers twitching at his sides.  “Michelle…”

Tears were flowing freely down my cheeks.  I was getting used to it.  “Tom.”

And then he was there and holding me, one arm around my waist, one hand at the back of my head.  His lips were warm and certain and sure and his heart was pounding and I wanted to be wrong.  I was so tired, so lonely, so off balance, and we both melted to the floor in one another’s arms.  I clung to him in abject misery, eating up his kisses until their soft and tender yielding became too much to bear, and my sobs overtook me.  He moved me into his lap, rocking me like a child, his hands stroking my hair and my back as his mouth danced over my forehead and cheeks.  “Shh,” he soothed me quietly.  “I’m here, love, I’m here.  I’ve got you.  I love you.  I’m here… I’ve got you… I love you.”

When the first intense front of the storm finally abated he took my face in his hands, smoothing away my tears as he nuzzled the tip of my nose.  “Can you stand?” He asked gently, and when I nodded, he helped me to my feet.

“I…” My voice cracked, and I paused to clear my throat.  “I’m going to splash some water on my face.”

“Michelle,” he held my fingers a bit tighter.  “Are you all right?”

I squared my shoulders, met his eye, and answered.

“No, Tom.  I’m not all right.”  I managed a small tight smile.  “Give me a minute, please.  Hug your boy, he missed you.  I’ll be back; we’ll talk, okay?”

He held my gaze, calm and steady, then nodded with a resigned sigh.  “I love you,” he spoke clear.

My lower lip trembled, and I squeezed his hands briefly before pulling away.  “I know.  And I love you.”  I sniffled, swiped my wrist at the corner of my eye.  “I’ll be right back.”

In the sanctuary of the bathroom, I pressed a cold washcloth to my face as I listened to the reunion of father and son, Tom’s ebullient laugh and Jack’s shriek of delight.  “It’s still an amazing life,” I told myself aloud.  “It’s still the life you want.  He’s your husband, he’s the father of your child… he’s still YOUR Tom.  He loves you, you love him.  All the rest is window dressing.”

When I reemerged to join my little family, Tom had moved into the kitchen, securing Jack in his high chair and gliding easily across the floor to set the table.  I moved to join him, pausing once to slide my arms around his waist, taste his mouth, and whisper I love you into his neck.  I could tell from his expression that he knew the storm was far from over, but the calm and loving light in his eyes and the welcoming warmth of his body reassured me he was there to weather it with me.

He let me sit with him for a long while, eating in silence while watching me push my food around on my plate.  Finally, he set his own fork down, then reached across to gently pluck mine from my hand.  “Darling,” he set it aside before catching my fingers in his.  “Enough.”  I lifted my gaze, hoping to see steely command in his, but found only tender concern staring back at me.  “Talk to me, please.”

Tears sprang to my eyes before I even opened my mouth, and I used my free hand to try and shoo them away.  “Okay,” I drew in breath, then released it in a shuddering sigh.  “I just… I know that…”  I groped my way along, unsure exactly how to start.  “Tom… you know… things have been weird between us.”

“I do, love,” he rubbed his thumb gently over the back of my hand.  “Off, you said before.”

“Yes,” I affirmed quickly.  “And, like I said before, I know that that happens to people sometimes…”

“Right,” he nodded.  “Especially when, as you said, long periods of separation are unavoidable.”

“Yes.”  I swallowed miserably.  _He’s trying so hard to help make it easy… why is it so fucking hard?_   “Okay.  Well, Tom… the thing is… I want you to know…”  The tears overwhelmed me, spilling unchecked down my cheeks.  “I understand it.  I do.  And it’s all right.”

His brow furrowed in confused surprise.  “It is?”

I nodded sadly.  “It is.  I mean, I’m not happy about it, not by a longshot.  But I really do understand.  It’s what you want, it’s what you need.  And all I’ve ever wanted to be is what you want, what you need.  So,” I tried to bravely square my shoulders and failed miserably, giving in once again to the sobs that bubbled up from my aching chest and tripped sadly from my lips.

“My sweet little love,” he pulled me from my chair and into his lap.  I wound my arms around his neck, soaking the shoulder of his shirt as he stroked my back.  “It’s all right, darling, it’s all right.”  He lifted my face, brushing my hair back from my forehead.  “You’re not the only one who’s been thinking about this, you know.  And as much as I love your unconditional support of my career, all this twisting you’re doing is completely unnecessary.  I don’t think it’s at all unreasonable for us to agree that projects abroad need to be taken off the table.  At least for the foreseeable future.”

I stared at him blankly.  “Huh?”

“Oh, Michelle,” he kissed me sweetly.  “I know how difficult it’s been.  I know how hard you’ve worked.  If nothing else, let’s treat it as exchange.  You saw me through this film, one that meant a great deal to me; now it’s my turn to see you through raising our boy for a bit.”

The sun returning to his expression melted the already thin ice my composure had been resting on, and I found myself pushing free from his arms, skittering across the floor.  “You think this is about that?  About you being gone for so long?”  My voice had a whiny, plaintive note that I hated but couldn’t quell.  “Jesus, Tom…”

All of a sudden, my husband looked as off balance as I felt.  “You mean… it’s not…”  His hand gripped the back of his chair, his jaw ticking rhythmically as his eyes bore into me.  “Michelle… if not that… what are you talking about?”

“Oh, God,” I wailed, raking my hands through my hair as the baby, tuning in to the anguish now flowing from my every pore, began to cry along with me.  And as I covered my face with my hands, vixen and dowager tongueless in the dark, the truest part of myself spoke behind my eyes.  Soft, steady and, as always, in his voice.

_You have to say it, Michelle.You have to keep your promise._

A deep breath, and then the plunge.  “I’m talking about the fact that you have absolutely no interest in being my Dom anymore!”

Tom had been moving to spread more sliced fruits and vegetables onto Jack’s tray and soothe his tears, but as soon as the words were out of my mouth, he froze.  I could almost hear the ligaments and tendons creaking in his suddenly stiff neck as he turned his head to face me once more, his expression darkly confused.  “What?”

“I get it, Tom, I get it, okay?  I do!”  My tone was more pleading then angry.  “It’s been almost eight years, we have a kid now, the work is more serious and requires a certain amount of discretion and dignity.  It’s time we… outgrow… our little predilection and move on, right?  Well, okay, if that what it takes, then that’s what it takes…”

“Our little predilection?”  His interruption was barely a breath above silence, but it cut my own rambling off like a knife.  His eyes swirled darker as his hand fisted the back of his chair.  “Predilection.  That’s what you call it?  A taste?  A preference?”  He stuttered a moment before falling silent, shocked and taken aback.

“Tom,” I swiped miserably at my dripping cheeks.  “It’s okay.  People grow… they change.  They have to.  And so much has changed for us, so much, and it’s so much _good_.”  I pressed my palms against the ache in my belly as I shifted my focus to the huge blue eyes that were as wet as my own.  “I have so much in my life that I _never_ thought I would have, _ever._ And it’s all because of you.”  I took a deep breath and lifted my chin.  “I would do anything for you, Tom, be anything for you.  You need me to be a wife, Jack needs me to be a mother,” I swallowed hard.  “More than I need to be a sub.”  His face twisted in misery at my words, and I steeled myself to continue.  “I can be okay with that, Tom.  I can.  _I will_.  I promise.”

“You promise?”  The words were flat and dull as he stared me down from across the room.

I nodded sadly.  “Yes.”

“Because it’s what I want, what I need.”

“Yes.”

He was on his feet in a flash, grabbing my hands and pulling me close.  “You don’t believe that.”  He searched my eyes desperately.  “Come on, Michelle… you can’t believe that.”  I gaped up at him as he stroked his fingers over my cheeks, tucked my hair behind my ears.  “Michelle, I love you.  I love our life.  How… how could you possibly believe I’d want to do anything to change it?”

I blinked at his words, feeling as if the floor had suddenly tilted beneath my feet.  “Wh… are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious, love.”  He brushed his lips against my forehead.  “Being your Dom… having you give yourself to me so utterly… so completely… it’s been the greatest honor of my life.  Why would you think I want to give that up?”

I took his wrists in my hands, gently but firmly pulling them away.  “Because… you did.” His brows quirked in confusion, and I took a defensive step back.  “You did, Tom.”

“Now, hang on just a second, darling…”

“No, Tom, you did!”  I insisted, somehow managing to keep the edge of hysteria from rising in my voice.  “Ever since you left… ever since that weekend…”  The flare of his nostrils told me his shields were rising as well, and I forced myself to speak carefully.  “You’ve been wonderful.  So sweet and so loving and supportive and gentle.  You’re amazing, Tom, you really are.  But you haven’t been my Dom for a while now…”

“Now, hang on just a minute.”  He was bristling as well.  “That weekend… Michelle…”

“What, Tom?”  I couldn’t help but push just a little.  “I needed you.  I needed you to top me.”

“I did top you, darling,” he insisted.  “In the best way I knew how.”  I shook my head, but he pressed on.  “Michelle, I knew how badly that time alone ravaged you.  Managing the house, and Jack, with him growing and changing so much.  And your work –dredging up such emotional pain.  You were fragile darling, holding it all together but so unsure of yourself.  What was I supposed to do?  Blow back in, force you over my knee, tie you down to suit my whims?  You needed care, my love… tenderness, affection, support…”

“I needed,” I interrupted him with a hand pressed to his heart, trembling a bit when I felt it hammering against the cage of his chest.  “To feel normal.”

“Well, then why didn’t you say something?”

“Because!”  I cried out, pulling away from him and turning so he couldn’t see the fresh flood of tears that rained from my eyes.  I took a moment to steady myself.  “Because I didn’t want to hear that you thought they were right.”

“Wait a minute.”  He closed the distance between us, his hand firm on my elbow as he spun me around.  “Who’s right?  What the hell are you talking about?”

I shook my head, tears flying from my cheeks to land on my arms, his hands.  “Everybody.  Nobody.”

“Michelle,” he took my shoulders and shook me gently.  “You aren’t making any sense.”

“Tom,” I wailed softly.  “How can you not know what they say?  It’s a gimmick, it’s a ploy, it’s fifty shades of gross… and we have a baby… and now you’re losing parts you shouldn’t be…”

“Michelle!”  He shook me again.  “Who the bloody fuck are you talking about?  Fifty shades of what?  And losing parts… are you talking about _Much Ado_?  Sweetheart, I always knew that Pace had the edge for that one, and how could you think that what passes between you and I has anything to do with my work?”

“Because they talk about it, Tom!  They all talk about it…”

“Who?”

“YOUR FANS!”  I finally screamed.  Jack startled in his highchair, then began to howl once again himself, and I hurried to gather him into my arms as Tom watched me, gobsmacked.  “You remember, your fans?  The people who buy the tickets and the DVD’s and the downloads and the t-shirts and the posters?  The ones who pack the conferences and run the websites and the blogs and follow the tweets and donate to the charities?  They talk about it, Tom, they all talk about it, and a lot of them say ‘enough’.”  Jack burrowed into my neck, and I rubbed his back, as much to calm myself as the baby.  “And it’s okay, Tom, it is, I swear it is.  I will make it be okay.  Like you said… exchange.  You work so hard, you give so much… you give ME so much.  So I can do this for you.  I will do this for you.  Because I want to be whatever you want, whatever you need.  So I’ll do this for you.  Please.  Just… just…”

“Just what?” He murmured bitterly.  “Just let a handful of vitriolic strangers creep into my life and rend it stem from stern?”  He shook his head angrily.  “You know me well, Michelle, but I thought you knew me better than that.  I love my fans, and I know fucking well that without them this work that I adore comes to a grinding halt.  But if they’re going to jump ship like rats because they erroneously think they’ve even the slightest right to dictate what happens in my home, in my bed, with my wife, then _LET THEM_!”  I shuddered in the wake of his roar.  “I would sooner push a broom around the chip shops in Piccadilly than let that kind of narrow-minded, self-important fuckery influence even one moment I spend with you.”  He raked his fingers through his curls.  “Why you would let them in like that…?”

The aching disappointment in his tone made me flinch and wither into myself.  And yet, my mind still screeched that I couldn’t be wrong.  “Tom, please,” I begged, rocking our son wearily in my arms.  “Please understand…  I’m doing this for you.”

“No, you’re not, Michelle,” he mused sadly, a single tear escaping the corners of each of his eyes.  “You can’t be.  Because I don’t want it.  Do you hear me?  _I don’t want it_.”

“I don’t want it either,” I sobbed.  “But I cannot let this go on, not if it’s going to ruin even one more second of your career.  You’ve worked too hard, you’ve gone through so much…”  I trailed off weakly. 

He cast his gaze to the ceiling before wiping a shaking hand over his face.  “Well, then, love,” he sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeated acceptance, vestiges of shock and disbelief still quivering across his drawn features.  “I guess there’s nothing more to say.”  We stood in heavy silence for a long moment until Jack squirmed against my chest, the wet sounds of his mouth on his fist filling the void that had opened up on all sides around me.  Finally, Tom cocked his head towards the stairs.  “Go and nurse him,” he said thickly.  “I’ve got cleanup down here.”  He crossed to the table and began to clear it with jerky, robotic efficiency.

“Okay,” I answered softly.  “Will you come up after?”  I held my breath, watched him ponder.

“Of course, love.”  Weary, resigned.  “Save a fairy tale for me…”


	29. Chapter 29

After cleaning the kitchen and closing up the downstairs, Tom joined me in the nursery just as Jack was suckling his last.  I surrendered baby and rocker to him, hugging my legs to my chest on the window bench to listen as Tom whispered a bedtime story into the baby’s silky golden curls.  No original creation that night; just a simple retelling of Pooh trying to trick the busy bees out of their honey.  The boy was asleep before the plump little bear was stuck in Rabbit’s hole, but he finished the narration nonetheless as I wept silently into my crossed arms.  We tucked the warm little body into his crib together, then walked side by side to our own bed. 

We stood toe to toe for a long pause.  No words came; it felt as if there were none left in the world.  Finally, Tom kicked off his boots and lay down fully dressed in the center of the mattress.  I stood rigid, unsure of what to do until he held his arms open to me, at which point I crawled into them, my body wracked with silent sobs.  He held me all night, slipping from the bed just after four to run in the solace of the warm June morning. 

We lived through the next days in a state I can only describe as unbearably unfinished.  We tended our boy.  Tom rested.  I wrote.  We moved in soundless circles around one another, sharing sad smiles whenever our glancing eyes collided.  A few times I reached for his hand, lay my palm on his shoulder.  Always the same plea: “Tom… talk to me.  Please.”

Always the same reply:  “Michelle, you’ve had weeks to wrap your head around the things you said.  May I please have the courtesy of a few days?”

I’d have thrown myself from our bedroom window had it not been for the tenuous and pitiful saving grace of the night.  In the dark left in the wake of the early summer sun’s retreat, smelling of lavender baby wash and spicy cedarwood, he would draw me to him in our bed.  His arms around my shoulders, mine clinging to his waist, our legs tangled beneath the sheets.  He would whisper “I love you” over and over into my hair, I would sob my reply into his chest.

We didn’t make love.

Friday morning, and I had just put Jack down for his nap.  I stretched my arms over my head as I padded to the bedroom, pondering a long, hot bath.  But I stopped cold in the doorway, my heart leaping into my throat as my eyes lit on the open suitcase in the middle of the bed, Tom tucking clothes inside.  He glanced up, and for the first time since his homecoming, his smile easily reached his eyes.  “Hello, my beauty.”

“H-hi,” I stepped timidly into the room.  “What… what is this all about?”

His smile widened a bit as he pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and held it out to me.  The address was in Edinburgh, the picture something out of a fairy tale: red brick, slate roof, the cottage walls overrun with nature’s vibrant greens and reds and lavenders.  “Chris and Em will be here around noon, and they’ll stay through until Sunday morning.  Then they’ll drop Jack off at Mum’s, we’ll pick him up on Monday.”  He paused in his packing to run a nervous hand through his hair.  “What do you say, love?  A little Scottish solitude to help us back on our feet?”

For the first time in months, the tears that slipped from my eyes were not born of pure misery.  “Oh, Tom,” I threw myself into his arms, burying my face in his neck.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He chuckled softly into my hair.  “You’re welcome, love.”  He took my face in his hands and kissed me gently.  “Go and pack.”

I hurried into the closet, yanking my carry-on from the top shelf and flipping it open with relish.  I barely looked at what I threw inside, wanting only to rush headlong toward this thing that finally seemed to lighten his heart, to embrace the possibility that we could at last find a new, true path back to one another.  Sundresses, sandals, his very favorite bra and panty sets.  I was tucking my toiletries into their designated pouches when I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror.  My eyes were still puffy and red-rimmed, but at least they were clear and dry.  Tiny roses were once again blooming in my cheeks, and I could see my hammering pulse beating in the skin of my throat above my…

_Collar.  It’s my collar.  It will always be my collar.  Even if we don’t call it that, even if no one else knows.  It’s mine, and I can call it whatever I want.  Even if he never touches it again.  It’s my collar._

I traced my fingertips over the braided platinum, pausing briefly when I realized it had shifted around, the clasp now resting in the hollow beneath my chin.  My hands were shaking as I pawed at it in a panic, spinning the chain back and back until the fastener was once again hidden beneath my hair.  Swallowing hard, I blasted the cold water in the sink, scrubbing a handful over my face before squaring my shoulders and grabbing my suitcase. 

Tom loaded the bags into the Forester as soon as they were ready, then met me and Jack in the middle of the living room floor.  We lay on our bellies as the infant rolled and gurgled between us, pushing himself up to rock on all fours, threatening to crawl before collapsing back to his tummy with a hearty giggle.  Tom stroked his hair, pressed his fingers into the grasping little hands, catching my eye from time to time to offer small but hopeful smiles.  When the doorbell rang, the boy was only too excited to see his aunt and her man, squealing with delight when Evans scooped him up by the back of his overalls.  A flurry of hugs and kisses later, and Tom and I were alone on the road, music drifting from the speakers, our hands clasped loosely above the console between us. 

We stopped for a small supper about five hours into the drive, chatting quietly about the weather, the scenery, our upcoming trip to the house in North Carolina, where we planned to spend a few lazy weeks introducing Jack to the life that had been mine once upon a time.  We were standing at the café counter, waiting for our change, when the soft strains of “Falling Slowly” began to float on the air.  Tom watched me sway absently to the tune for only a moment before drawing me into his arms, dancing me easily in a small circle.  “I love you,” he whispered against my lips as the tune came to an end, swallowing my reply in a soft, tender kiss. 

The sun was making its descent as we resumed our drive, and he laughed gently at my long, slow blinks, reaching over to recline my seat.  “Sleep, love…”  The rhythmic rocking of the car, the warm evening air, and the heat of Tom’s hand bleeding through my jeans where it rested on my knee, and I closed my eyes with a grateful sigh.

It was hours later when I blinked them open, and I sat up straight with a start.  Alone in the car, I twisted in my seat, confused.  The moon was high in the sky, shining down through the windshield and onto the few other cars parked in the lot.  No Scottish countryside, no cozy little cottage.  I was beginning to think I was still asleep and dreaming until I realized that I recognized my surroundings. 

After all, I’d been there before.

The lobby of the Clandeboye Lodge was empty, no guests milling about, not even an attendant waiting behind the desk.  It didn’t matter; I knew exactly where he was.  Sure enough, the door to suite 317 was slightly ajar, and I somehow managed to make my way inside on legs I was certain would buckle at any moment.  Through the sitting room, towards the dim, beckoning light that spilled through the bedroom door.  “T-t-Tom?”

He sat in the same chair where I’d waited for him, his legs shoulder width apart, his elbows propped on his knees.  His head was bowed, his gaze examining the black silk scarf, my black silk scarf, which he stroked absently through his fingers.  My vision doubled briefly before the tears spilled down my cheeks, my heart stuttering behind my breast.  “Tom?”

He lifted his head to look at me, and I wanted to crumble into dust.  His handsome features were drawn under an assaulting whirlwind of too much emotion: fear, sadness, longing, resignation and, swirling stubbornly at the bottom of them all, hope.  “Come in, little one.”  The endearment nearly did me in, and I stumbled as I stepped toward him.  He was out of the chair in a flash, catching me by my elbows, and my arms flew around his neck.  “Shh, darling, shh,” he hushed me as I cried, his hands warm and sure against my back.  “Please, Michelle,” he smoothed my hair away from my face when my sobs showed no signs of abating.  “Please calm down.  I need to say something to you, and I need you to hear me.  Okay?”

I nodded, clinging to his wrists.

He took a deep, shuddering breath.  “Eight years ago, Michelle, I came to this room alone.  I was lost, I was angry, I was embarrassed.  The world had tilted on its axis, and everything I thought I knew was,” he paused, making certain his eyes held mine.  “Off.”

I nodded, sniffling softly.

“I sat in the quiet of this room, and I listened.  Listened to the silence, or the wind, or the rain, and I waited for the answer.”  He smiled at me, his eyes full of love and gratitude.  “You were the answer, Michelle.  You’ve always been the answer.”  His grip on my neck tightened ever so slightly.  “Eight years ago, you came to me in this room.  You came to me, and you told me to claim you.  And in doing so, you claimed me.”  My sobs began anew, and he bent his knees as I bowed my head.  “I am yours, Michelle.  _You are mine, and I am yours_.” 

His hands released me then, winding the forgotten silk around one fist.  “And this?”  He swallowed hard, his voice cracking ever so slightly.  “I thought this was us.”  He cleared his throat, his eyes boring into mine.  “I have never lied to you, my love.  I am not about to start now.”  He caught my chin, carefully, firmly, between his thumb and forefinger.  “I want this, Michelle.  I want you.  _All of you_.  I want the sex and the submission, I want the respect and the trust, I want the power and the privilege.” His own tears were flowing now, tracing shining lines over the angle of his cheekbones and skittering through the landscape of scruff along his jaw.  “We didn’t just claim one another, Michelle… _we found one another_.  The real Tom, the real Michelle.  And then we completed each other.  The missing pieces to make the picture whole.  The need and the want and the give and the take and the shatter and the restore.”

He paused to cast his eyes to the heavens, as if mutely pleading for one last burst of will to see him through.  “I love it, Michelle.  Every bit of it.  The pain and the pleasure, when it’s easy and when it’s hard.  I don’t give a fuck what the rest of the world thinks.  I love it.  I want it.”  His expression crumbled then, and I felt my heart wrench violently in my chest.  “But more than it, Michelle, I want you.  I love you.  I am yours, you are mine.”  He stepped back from me then, holding the scarf out to me.  “I thought this was us.  You say it’s not, not anymore.” He lifted my hand, pressed the material into my palm.

“If that is truly your answer, my love… I will abide.”

I couldn’t speak.  I couldn’t move.  He didn’t seem to mind; he scrubbed his hands over his face, swiping away his tears before scruffing up his hair.  Drawing in a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and offered me a small but heartfelt smile.  “I’m going to get ready for bed.”  He turned on his heel; a heartbeat later, the bathroom door closed softlybehind him. 

I sank to my knees, sobbing brokenly into my hands.

_What am I doing?  What the fuck am I doing?_

In the black… behind my lids… 

His hands pinning mine to the mattress beside my head in a hotel room in New York City.  My torn dress falling to the floor of my condo in Belhaven.  His voice in my ear in the study when I still thought of the London flat as his instead of ours… “ _Do you trust me_?”  The silk of his ties over my eyes, around my wrists.  The sting of his hands, of his belt.  The pain that brought pleasure, assuaged guilt, broke down walls, built me anew.  The liberties he allowed so I could be who I am, the rules he enforced to make damn sure I became who I was meant to be.

The collar he placed on me to set me free.

The sound of the toilet flushing and water running in the sink told me I didn’t have a lot of time.  But that was all right; I didn’t need much.

The bathroom door clicked open, and I heard his sharp intake of breath.  More than anything, I wanted to turn my head, to see his expression as he took in my wordless reply to his resigned plea. But I knew half the answer lay in my posture, my presentation.  And so I kept my head bowed, my hair a feathery curtain around my face, my back held straight by my wrists crossed at the base of my spine.  
  
I'm not certain what I expected his reaction to be, seeing me on my knees in the middle of the bed, naked and trembling before him.  He could have rushed to me, taken me in his arms, crushed his mouth to mine before stripping away his own clothes to join us as one.  He could have chuckled, taunted, teased me with ghosting touches from his hands and fleeting kisses from his mouth.  He could have done any of those things.  But he is my Tom.  And as I answered the question, once and for all, of what we were, he took his place, ready to remind me of what it meant that he was alsothen, and from then on, my Dom.  I couldn't hear his prowling footsteps, couldn't see the lithe flow of his body as he moved in behind me.  But I could feel him: his heat, his desire, his command.    
  
His love.  
  
I gasped softly at the dip of the mattress as he knelt behind me, at the silent whisper of fine fabric as he lifted the scarf from where I'd left it, folded neatly at my feet.  And then his body pressed against me, warming me as he moved my hands, placing them in front of me.  I shivered as he wound the silk first around one wrist, then the other, admiring the dexterous grace of his fingers as he bound me.And then his hands were in my hair, pulling me down into an exquisitely taut back bend before him.  Leaning over, he teased his tongue over my lips before claiming my mouth in a perfect searing kiss.  I breathed in his strength and his certainty, the last of my doubt rushing out of me as easily as the tears that flowed freely from the corners of my eyes and pattered soundlessly to the comforter.  
  
His warm blue gaze burned brilliant from within, the dim glow of the bedside lamps catching every fleck of gold that retreated as his pupils dilated in desire.  "You will not take your eyes off me, little one.  Is that understood?"  
  
I wanted to sob at the depth of his voice, the rich, demanding edge that wrapped around my brain and dragged it down into the core of my being until there was nothing left to think of except my absolute gut-wrenching need to please him.  

 

"Yes, Sir."  
  
His breath caught ever so slightly at the title, his chest filling and shoulders rising in pride and happiness.  Lifting my head and shoulders until I was balanced on my knees once more, he rose carefully, and my eyes stayed glued to his form as he crossed to his suitcase.  I bit my lip as I watched his muscles roll beneath the linen of his shirt as he pulled the zipper open, drank in the grace of his body as he set aside the clothing tucked within.  
  
If I needed any further reassurance that the answer I was giving was, in fact, the answer he’d been hoping and praying for, it came in the next moments as he continued to unpack.  My heart surged as I watched him place the safety shears, the vial of lube, and the small bottle of ibuprofen on the bedside table, looking at me pointedly over his shoulder.  After that came the masquerade blindfold; my tongue darted out to wet my lips as he draped it casually over my thigh. Leaning close, his hand caressing the back of my head, he kissed me again, the groping of his lips over and around mine a tantalizing blend of tenderness and urgency.  

 

"So," a husky growl after we parted.  "This is what we are?"

 

I nodded, my eyes locked with his.  "Yes, Sir."

 

"This is what you want?"

 

"Yes, Sir."

 

He radiated power and peace as he lifted his chin just a hint.  "Tell me, little one."

 

"I'm yours, Tom," I spoke quietly, reverently.  "I’m your wife, your partner.  Your little one."  I swallowed hard, then lifted my own chin as well.  "And I am so very proud to be your sub."

 

His smile was calm, peaceful perfection as he curled one finger under my collar.  “I said it before, Michelle, and I meant it.  Being your Dom has been, and always will be, the greatest honor of my life.”  Another soft kiss, and he was retreating, returning to the suitcase once more.  “And if this is what you truly want…”  His eyes locked with mine over his shoulder, and when I nodded steadily, he dipped his hand into its depths once more.

 

The tie I recognized, crimson satin with subtle etching.  The flogger, I did not. 

 

He gripped the sculpted handle loosely, casually, the purple suede tails whispering softly as they swung at his side.  He watched my eyes widen, my jaw sag, and twirled it absently.  “Do you like it?

 

Swallowing hard against the lump in my throat, I nodded.  “It’s very pretty.”

 

“Eheheheh,” he crossed to drape the implement over my shoulder, the fragrant leather strands tickling at the bare skin of my back.  “As you will be, my love, after I’ve used it to mark this body once more as mine.”  He caressed my cheek, his thumb tracing the bow of my mouth.  “But first…” 

 

His hands began to move once more, and I dropped my gaze to look.  “Oh… Tom…”  His fingers were folding and twisting a thick knot into the center of his tie, leaving two long tails hanging from each side.  The design was clear, recognizable, and even in my newfound relief and happiness, I couldn’t hold back one small shudder of distaste.  “Tom… please…”

 

The expression that manifested on his face was indescribably beautiful, a look born half of a slightly exasperated need to teach and correct and half of sheer happiness and gratitude that he was once again able to do so.  “You hush now, my darling,” he sniffed, not unkindly.  “You know very well how much I love your delicious little mouth.”  He kissed me, soft and slow, as if to prove his point.  “And yet,” he continued without missing a beat, “it continues to get the rest of you into trouble.”  He leveled his eyes on mine.  “I really don’t think you can argue, Michelle.  There’s never been a more apt moment for you to work on learning this lesson, nor a more appropriate time for me to use such a measure as punishment.”  Another kiss, and his thumb on my chin nudged my mouth open for the cool, smooth satin to slip inside.  “You kept all of this nonsense quiet for so long,” his voice gentle but firm as he tied the gag in place.  “You can keep quiet a little longer.”

 

I bowed my head as he secured the knot, careful not to make it too tight, or to catch my hair in the binding.  “Feels all right?” He asked once finished, and chuckled a little at the scowl I offered, even as I nodded.  “You know, my love,” He stroked the back of his fingers against my cheek.  “The punishment is not for having doubts.  I need us both to be very clear about that.”  He stared intently into my eyes.  “I cannot lie and say I’m all right with you doubting me, or doubting us.  I try very hard for you, Michelle,” he paused for a breath.  “But I know I’m not perfect.  I make mistakes, I fuck up.”  He brushed his lips against my forehead.  “I was wrong about what you needed, and for that I am so sorry.  I neglected signals you sent me, and I didn’t bother to explain why, and for _that_ , I am so, so sorry.  But you know me, little one.  _You know me_.”  He dusted his fingertips over the knot held between my lips.  “One word from this lovely little mouth… just one… and I’d have moved mountains to make it all right.” 

 

I nodded, tears of shame and regret slipping from the corner of my eyes to be wicked away by the satin that bound me. 

 

He smiled, full of love and faith and encouragement, and the first heated flicker of arousal.  “We set it to rights here, yes?”

 

I nodded again.

 

“My brave, beautiful bird,” he smoothed a hand over my hair while the other plucked the blindfold from where it lay in my lap.  “Are you ready for the dark?”  I closed my eyes, nodded, and quivered against him as he slipped the lace and silk into place.  He moved away from me then, taking with him his heat, and I whimpered softly as flocks of goosebumpstook flight over my skin.  “Fucking Christ, Michelle, you’re a vision.”  I could hear the soft rustle of denim and the soft edge of his voice on his exhale, and I realized he was palming his cock as he spoke.  The tails of the flogger caressed my back and shoulder as he removed it, and then he was behind me once more, against me, guiding my body to the position he desired.

 

He started by pushing my legs close beneath me, knee to knee, my thighs pressed tightly together.  Then he flattened his palms against the small of my back, pushing me down over them as his touch slid up to the base of my skull.  He mouthed his way along my spine as he smoothed my hair over my shoulder, pausing to bite down on the soft flesh of my neck.  My whimper was muffled by the gag,and he nudged his hips against my ass at the sound.  His hands trailed down my arms, extending them towards the headboard.  “We both know your word by now, little bird,” he purred in my ear.  “But tonight, I wouldn’t be able to hear it, even if you did say it.”  He tugged at the satin of the gag with his teeth, his fingertips dancing across my wrists, moving one over the other.  “If it gets to be too much, my love…”  He guided my hand, three taps in quick succession.  “One-two-three,” he counted off steadily.  “And you will have my mercy.  Understood?”  I hummed affirmation into the knot in my mouth as I nodded.  “Show me,” he instructed, and I obeyed, rapping my fingers against the back of my hand. 

 

“Good girl,” he dusted a soft kiss to my temple.  “Breathe.  And let’s begin.”


	30. Chapter 30

The bed shifted as he stood, and my ears pricked keenly at the sounds of his body moving.  The whisper of fabric as he removed his shirt and let it fall.  The mild creak of the floorboards as he widened his stance.  And then, the breathy _whoosh_ as the flogger parted the air on his practice swing.  The breeze danced across my skin, and all at once, it crystallized for me just how long it had been.  A combination of longing and trepidation seized in my chest, and I bit down on the knot in my mouth, forcing myself to focus on my breathing.  He set the rhythm, his arm rising, falling, and I followed, drawing air in through my nose, letting it ghost silently out between my lips.  Everything went briefly still; his large, warm palm caressed my spine.  “I love you, Michelle.”

 

“I love you, Tom.”

 

The first blow landed across the center of my upper back.  The impact was deliciously gentle, the gasp that fluttered from my throat more surprised gratitude than discomfort.  The second was the same, lower, the strike landing in a diffuse pattern that seemed to embrace every inch of flesh it touched rather than sting or bite in any one concentrated area.  The third licked across my hip, and I moaned softly into the gag as I felt heat rush to spread below the surface of my skin.  I heard Tom draw in breath and exhale it in a small, muttered expletive, and I shuddered, knowing my body was flushing in response to his work, crying out voicelessly to him that I was his.  He paused briefly, dangling the implement over me so that only the tips of the tail tickled against the dip at the base of my spine.  “With me, love?”  His voice was husky and warm, and I arched and stretched beneath its honeyed depths before nodding.  “Good girl… breathe…”

 

The next blow landed across my ass, harder, sharper, and I jumped a little, squeaking against the knot in my mouth at the sting.  Another swipe, landing more on the opposite cheek, two of the tails catching my skin with a more distinct snap.  Another, harder still, and I whimpered at prickling burn left in its wake.  Two more in quick succession, enough force to make me flinch.  “Breathe, love,” Tom urged quietly, his hand stroking over my hair in soothing encouragement.  The velvet of his voice traveled down my body, and the wet folds of my aching cunt plumped in response, allowing a trickle of my pooling arousal to slip down the inside of my thighs.  I wriggled against the sensation, and he read the cue perfectly. 

 

I could hear him shift as he widened his stance, as he reset his breathing to hone his focus.  I drew in air, held it briefly, let it go. 

 

The blows came faster after that, landed harder, with more precision.  Up my back, down again, no two strikes landing exactly the same, the suede straps caressing at bone and nipping at flesh.  My blood simmered beneath the surface; I could picture my skin glowing a deep rosy pink, the occasional darker crimson streak peeking out as the flogger retreated.  I rocked gently beneath his rhythm, pressing my thighs together in a failed attempt to quell the throbbing between them.  I folded my fingers together, squeezing my hands as if in silent prayer.  The knot in my mouth swallowed moan after whorish moan, the sound echoing through my brain, iced on the surface by his own sweet, steady reassurances.

 

“My sweet little one,” the flogger landed with a subtle _whump_.  “Such a good girl.”  Another soft thud with a tiny underlying snap.  His palm smoothed over my spine before he gifted me with another blow.  “Such a beautiful canvas to color upon.”  A lick across my ass.  “You’re so flushed.”  Another over the opposite hip.  “So warm.”  The hardest blow yet, diffused over the center of my back.  “And so very, very wet… you smell so good, Michelle… you’re making my mouth water…”

 

I sobbed his name into the gag, over and over, as lash after lash drove me closer and closer to the space that had eluded me for so long; the cool, beckoning cosmos of calm and sweet and soft and quiet.  The swirling seductive violet and red and green and gold that swirled into the brilliant blue of the eyes that kept vigil as I flew out into the constellations, deep, deeper, and deeper.  And as I touched the ether, smelled the stars that danced behind my lids, a quiet, persistent thought began to play at the back of my head, so nebulous that it took me a moment to grasp it.  A tiny whisper in the center of my brain.

 

… _You’ll drift too far_ …

 

It slipped away, almost as quickly as it had come, and I growled into my gag, struggling to retrieve it.

 

… _You’ll drift too far_ …   _Let him bring you back to him_ …

 

Tears soaked the silk of the blindfold as I warred sleepily with myself. 

 

_But it’s been so long, and it feels so good.  Please… please.  Let me go.  Just a little longer… just a little further…_

Blessed silence.  Until.

 

… _Where you’re going, he can’t follow_ …

 

Slowly, sluggishly, like moving through molasses, I untangled my fingers from one another, shifting my wrists in their bonds.

 

And then silent stillness.  Tom’s breath danced smooth and steady on the air.  The tails of the flogger came to rest draped over my outstretched arms.  The sound of his belt unbuckling, of denim falling to the floor.  And then he was behind me, over me, around me, the heat of his bare body soaking into mine.  My head nudged to the side so that he could kiss my cheek, nibble at my ear.  His hands massaging at my shoulders as his mouth grazed my neck, his tongue darting out to taste the tiny diamonds of perspiration bleeding from my skin.  I quivered beneath the moist desperation of his kisses, moaning in abject gratitude every time his teeth savagely claimed a spot.  The nape of my neck.  The back of each shoulder.  The center of each shoulder blade.  Several spots over the fleshy rise of my hips. The pressure points of my buttocks where I was sure to feel him every time I sat. 

 

He was lifting me slightly, pulling my legs apart and pushing his tongue against my folds to taste the spoils of his efforts.  I canted my body back towards him in unashamed offering, riding his mouth as he drank me in.  His lips suckled, his teeth nipped and tugged, and I moaned long and low in my throat.  His hand landed on my ass with a resounding crack, making me sob.  “You absolutely will _not_ ,” he snarled.  “Is that understood?”

 

I nodded frantically, huffing affirmation around the gag as best I could.  He fell to feasting on me once more, and I dug my chin into my chest, clasping my fingers and digging my nails into the back of my hands as I struggled to obey. 

 

The tie in my mouth was a nagging nuisance.  The flogger had been delicious torture.  But neither of them compared to the task of endurance Tom put me through once he laid tools aside and gave me the things that were him and only him: his lips and tongue and teeth, his strong hands and curious fingers.  Over and over he drove me to the brink of mind-numbing bliss, playing, probing, teasing, taunting.  And every time he sensed my balance tipping, every time my body betrayed me with a telltale clench or shudder he would stop, his large, warm palms leaving their mark on the swells of my ass.

 

I was a trembling heap, dripping sex and sweat when he finally crawled up behind me, dragging his tongue up my spine in a long, wet stripe.  One hand circled my throat, not squeezing, only holding firmly as the other teased his cock in the cleft of my ass.  “Christ, my love, can you feel what you do to me?”  I nodded desperately as his velvety soft skin painted cool streaks of precum on my flushed, heated flesh.  “Do you want this, Michelle?”

 

My head bobbed frantically, saliva slipping from the corners of my mouth as I whined around the knot between my teeth.

 

“Do you need this?”

 

“Yes!”  I screamed against the gag, hoping he could understand the muffled speech.  “Yes, Tom… yes, please!  Please!”

 

“Fucking Christ,” I could feel his fingers fumbling at the knot at the back of my head, and cool air filled my mouth a heartbeat later as he yanked the gag away.  “Let me hear you beg, little one.”

 

The blindfold was so soaked with tears they were finally leaking down my cheeks as I wailed softly to his command.  “Please, Tom, please!  Take me, fuck me, make me yours!”

 

“More…”

 

“Please, Tom!”  The words that had bubbled behind my lips for months, words I should have spoken the moment my weary mind forged them from my worried anguish.  “Take me… hurt me… break me… please…”

 

His knees between my legs, forcing them wide.  His hand around his cock as he rubbed it between my swollen, saturated folds, slicking it with the fluids that poured unchecked from my body.  Finally, he leaned over me once more, his firm, gentle grip returning to my throat as the head of his cock pressed against the clenched entrance of my cunt.  “Oh, fucking Christ, Michelle,” he rumbled into the sweat-soaked hair at my temple.  “Let me in, love, it’s been too long.”

 

I focused all my concentration on the tightly drawn muscles between my legs, biting down on my lip as I willed them to relax.  But after a moment of his persistent nudging and my futile internal struggle failed to loosen even a single one, I simply pushed back against him.  “Tom… please.  Please.”

 

“You’re certain?”  I could hear the soft concern underneath the predatory growl.

 

“Yes.  Yes, please, Tom, I don’t care, I don’t care, please, please, please…”  My voice was rising in pitch and urgency, and I felt him shudder against me.  His hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my keening shriek as he thrust forward with all his strength, sheathing himself to the hilt inside me.  My eyes rolled back in my head beneath the blindfold as a myriad of sensations spiraled through me: burning, biting, stinging.  But below it all, the feeling of _stroke_ and _stretch_ , of _open_ and _accept_ , of _heat_ and _want_ and _deeper_ and _fuller_ and _yours_ … _yours… yours_ …

 

I didn’t realize I was moaning it over and over until his hand released my mouth, his fingertips tracing the word as if memorizing the texture of my speech.  “That’s right, little one.”  He pressed deeper, grinding his pubic bone into my ass, his full and heavy balls pushing against my weeping folds.  “You’re mine.”  His touch slid down my jaw, his fingers curling around my collar.  “Mine… mine… mine…”

 

The mantra set the beat as he fucked me, slow, brutal, possessive.  His taut abdomen and hard thighs pounded against my ass with every thrust, his balls slapped deliciously against my clit.  The ache of being invaded after so much time spent empty stretched blunt, spindly fingers through every nerve and muscle, and I sobbed in relief, knowing it would linger for days.  He would push hard for a bit, his chest to my back, his fingers dancing along the lines of my still extended arms as my hands fisted at the pillow.  Then he would rise up behind me, letting the evening air chill my back as he canted his thrusts upward, driving against spots inside me that whited out the vision behind my lids. 

 

He traced ticklish patterns in the perspiration that pooled in the hollow at the base of my spine, revisited the blossoming love bites scattered over my back, nursed them to bloom deeper and darker with his suckling lips and biting teeth.  His palm smoothed up between my shoulders, his fingers plunging into my hair.  Gripping my scalp firmly but carefully, he dragged me up, his other hand guiding the circle of my bound arms up and over his head.  His mouth at my ear, his voice in my head, his touch everywhere at once.  My lips, my throat, my nipples, my navel, plucking, pinching, a ballet of sensation on the stage of my skin.

 

I was lost to myself, all conscious and rational thought fled and locked out.  Hollow, utterly at peace, I hung from his neck like a jewel, riding the waves of his body as he touched and teased and tasted and took all that I had to offer, all that he wanted, all I’d been so achingly desperate to give.  His hands cupped my breasts, his fingers pulled at their rigid peaks.  Slowly, he explored lower, traversing every rib, caressing my belly, tracing my scar.  When he tugged ever so gently at the small tuft of auburn curls just above my mound, I gasped softly, and his velvety chuckle rumbled against my back.  One hand on each side of my sex, and he pulled me open, exposing every saturated petal.  “So soft,” he whispered as he stroked each trembling inch.  “So wet.”  He lifted his fingers to his mouth, letting me hear every wet, succulent sound as he took my arousal from his skin.    Back down again, and his fingertips beckoned my already throbbing clit to swell further, catching the slippery little pearl and circling it restlessly. 

 

“Fuck,” I whimpered, squirming hungrily, back against his cock, forward into his hand.  “Tom…”

 

“Sweet little bird,” he strummed at me playfully.  “You’ve been such a good girl.”  He bit down on the cartilage of my ear.  “Shall I let you come now?”

 

I was moaning a wordless plea before his offer was completely spoken.  “Yes, Tom, please… please let me come.”

 

“Eheheheheh,” I curled my fingers into his silky hair at the sound of his mirth.  “Are you going to come hard for me, darling?”

 

“Y-yes, S-Sir,” I nodded frantically, my tongue lashing in vain at my dry lips.

 

“Are you going to scream my name?”

 

“Yes!  Tom… yes!”

 

“Are you going to gush for me, love, like the wet, wanton little toy that you are?”

 

“Yes!  Yes!  Please!”

 

His fingers moved faster, rougher, as he thrust his cock deeper, harder.  The curve of him grazed my throbbing g-spot over and over, his crown pushed at my cervix.  Passion and pleasure and the very best kind of pain, every cell of my body simultaneously screaming for mercy, for more.  And then his mouth grazed his spot beneath my ear, his tongue fluttering over the skin before his teeth sank deep.  I writhed against him as he drew hard, wracked with ecstasy at the thought of the plump purple bruise that would stare back at me from the mirror in the morning.  “Tom… Sir… Tom…!”

 

 “Fucking hell,” he groaned as I convulsed around him.  “Come, Michelle, come… all over my cock, love… let me feel it…”

 

Those words in my ear, his voice tangling around the shutters of my body and flinging them wide.  I arched helplessly against him, a taut wire of flesh and feeling, wailing his name as my release nearly tore me in two, spilling all that I felt and all that I was all over his hands.  “Oh, yes, little one… there you are,” he purred, grabbing me at the apex between my legs and pounding into me until he’d chased the very breath from my lungs, leaving me dangling dizzy from his neck, his name still dribbling from my lips like rain.

 

His hands stroked my sides, pianoed up my ribcage, rose to clasp my bound wrists and ease me back to the bed, his cock still hot and hard and hungry inside me.  “Perfection, my love,” he praised, untying the blindfold and soothing warmth into my skin as he moved me back to his desire.  My knees braced against the mattress, he slid an arm under me to lift my ass up and back before bending over me once more.  “I’m so very proud of you,” his face was gloriously flushed as he kissed my cheek tenderly, even as his hand in my hair pressed my head down beneath him.  His other hand snaked over my hip, between my legs, pressing flat against my cunt to push me back further onto him. 

 

“My sweet Michelle,” he nuzzled the nape of my neck, sending me floating into the atmosphere once more.  “My wonderful little submissive, my precious little fucktoy.”  The muscles around him quivered and clenched at the descriptor, and he hiccupped a small grunt of his own.  “Such a receptive little plaything to use for my pleasure.”  His head dropped a bit, his brow pressed between my shoulder blades.  “ _Christ, you feel good_ ,” he muttered, almost to himself.  “So obedient.  So responsive.  _Fuck, that’s it_.”  My body clenched again as I closed my eyes, drifting weightless and unworried at the edge of the tether his voice provided.  “That’s it, my love, my little one.  Trust me.  Give yourself to me… _fuck_ … complete and utter surrender.” 

 

His hand between my legs pressed harder and harder as he thrust forward deeper and deeper, his hips stuttering every now and again in their rhythm.  “Mmm, your lovely little cunt,” he rasped.  “So warm, so tight.”  His breath left him in a groan before he dragged in another.  “It’s been so long, Michelle.  I’m going to fill you so full…”  A deep breathy moan.  “Your sweet pink pussy is going to look so lovely, my wet, sticky come dripping down every pink, perfect petal… _fucking CHRIST_ …”

 

It was my turn to moan as he lay his full weight on me, the hand cupping my sex working my body back onto his cock as he fucked forward, hard and fast.  I could feel the sweat from his brow dripping onto my skin as his lungs worked like bellows, all finesse and fanfare gone as he charged headlong into his own orgasm.  And just as my mind slipped its bonds in his silence, his hand in my hair yanked my head back once again.  His mouth descended to the right side of my neck, mooring me to him with sucking lips and biting teeth.  And as my blood rose to color the skin that he savaged, the dam burst, leaving him sobbing my name as he spilled inside me, long, thick spurts of liquid heat that convulsed his body against mine.  I lay boneless, welcoming, a small, peaceful smile curling my lips as his hips clenched again, and again, endlessly, until he was limp and wrung out on top of me, his breath in my ear, his seed spilling out of me even as his cock still pulsed and twitched within my depths.

 

I don’t know how long we lay in our cerulean haze before I felt him come back to himself with a jerk.  “Oh, shit… Michelle…”

 

“I’m okay, Tom,” I purred contentedly.  “I’m wonderful.”

 

“Oh, my love,” I shivered at the chill when he rolled his body off of mine, but he was quick to snag the fleece-lined comforter from the foot of the bed.  He wound it carefully around my shoulders, pulling me into the cradle of his arms and lap before carefully yanking the tails of the scarf from its quick-release knot.  I could have squealed in delight at the sight of the mild red rings that circled my wrists, and I couldn’t help but pout my lip a little as Tom rubbed gently at their circumference to encourage them to fade, kissing every inch.  “None of that, little brat,” he chided with a chuckle.  “You’ve plenty of pretty blemishes to touch and trace, trust me.”

 

“Can I see?” I asked, full of childish excitement. 

 

“Tomorrow, love,” he answered firmly, kissing the tip of my nose.  “There’s still work to be done here.”

 

This time, the pout extended to my brow as he stretched his arm for the water and the ibuprofen on the nightstand.  “Jesus,” he snorted when he turned back to me, lifting the bottle to my lips so I could drink.  “You really have missed a firm hand, haven’t you?”  He rubbed a thumb over my forehead before shaking a couple of pills into his palm.  “Barely over this flogging and you’re well on your way to another.”

 

I swallowed down the tablets and then snuggled into his chest, pressing a kiss to the throbbing pulse below his jaw.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

 

He held me for a long moment before slipping a finger under my chin, tilting my face up to his.  “This is us, little one?”

 

I nodded reverently.  “This is us, Sir.”

 

His grin was the brilliance of the sun breaking after a long, dark midnight.  “Always?”

 

“Always.”

 

He swallowed hard, and it was my turn to wipe away the tears that trickled down his cheeks as he whispered in broken gratitude.  “Tell me, Michelle.”

 

“I’m yours, Tom.

 

_I’m yours_.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Re-connection. Resolution. And resumption. An ending to the arc, but so much more story to come. So just think of this a lovely new beginning…

Tom held me cuddled to his chest for a deliciously long rest, rocking me gently, stroking my hair and dusting soft, reverent kisses over my face.  I drank deep the cool water as he whispered soft praise into my ear, words of love and appreciation and reassurance that made me feel as if I were floating in his arms.  My body stretched with his as he leaned to put the bottle back on the nightstand, and to snag the receiver of the bedside telephone.  I drifted to the sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear, giggled at the tickling rumble of his voice as he placed an order with the kitchen.  My stomach grumbled loudly as I listened to him muse over the late night choices of fruits and cheeses and fresh baked breads, and I hummed approval as he added selections of olives and bruschetta puff pastry, soda and tea.  “Yes, to suite 317, please…”

I tugged on his neck.  “Honeycomb cheesecake,” I mumbled dreamily.

“Decadent little minx,” he chuckled, brushing a kiss to my forehead before speaking into the mouthpiece once more.  “And your honeycomb cheesecake, please…”

Finally, my shivering stilled, the goosebumps that had dotted my skin hid their pretty heads, and I knew as he held my face and nodded with satisfaction that my wide-blown pupils had once again retreated into the brown of my irises.  “There you are, little one,” he mused with a smile, tucking my hair behind my ears.  “How do you feel?”

I pondered for a moment, wanting, needing to give him the exact right word.  “On, Tom,” I breathed at last.  “I feel _on_.”  His expression made my heart twist with joy: elation, pride, satisfaction, and overwhelming relief.  I reached up silently, tracing my fingertips over the laugh lines that bracketed and lifted the corners of his eyes, the bow of his mouth.  “I missed these,” I whispered softly.

He kissed my fingertips.  “I missed you.”

We regarded each other for a skipped heartbeat, and then I was winding my arms around his neck, needing to be pressed tight against his glowing, solid warmth.  “I missed you, Sir.”  His embrace tightened at the endearment, and I groaned softly, the first dull gnaw of aching discomfort settling into my joints.    


“Oh, my love,” he pulled away from me carefully, rubbing his palms up and down my back.  “Come on,” he pulled the blanket away and nudged me firmly towards the mattress.  “Down with you, let’s go.” 

Disappointed to be out of his arms but curious at his sudden animation, I obeyed, stretching out on my tummy as he crossed once again to the suitcase.  When he returned to the bedside, he held a small brown bottle; uncapped, it released the aroma of jasmine, citrus, and rose.  He slipped the thick platinum band off of his left hand, and after placing it carefully on the bedside table, he filled his palms with the fragrant oil.  Grinning and giving a little wiggle of excitement, I collected my hair, twisting it into a long tail that I pulled over my shoulder and tucked under my chin, baring to him the full landscape of my back. 

Kneeling above me, his knees on either side of my hips, he leaned over to press a chaste kiss to the nape of my neck.  “I love you, little one,” he breathed, catching my collar between his teeth and tugging gently.  “I’m so fucking glad you’re mine.”

I closed my eyes as he smoothed his hands down either side of my spine, then back up again, spreading softly perfumed warmth over my skin.  His fingers started at my neck, rubbing and kneading all of the remaining knotted tension out of the muscle and tendon.  Over to each shoulder, and he rolled each joint slowly and carefully, working out the strain that had built while my arms had been stretched in front of and above me.  “How’s this?”  He asked quietly, pulling back at my shoulder as he pushed against my spine.

“Mmmm,” I hummed into the mattress.  “So good.”

“Turn your head, love,” he stroked his hand gently over my hair.  “I can’t hear you.”

I obeyed heavily, still not bothering to open my eyes.  “So good,” I repeated.  “Little lower.”

“Here?”  He moved the hand against my back along the curve of my shoulder blade until I groaned in relief.

“That’s the spot,” I nodded a little as he dug deeper.  “Thank you.”

“No, thank you, my love.”  He bent to kiss the area he’d soothed.  “Thank you.”  Down each limb to the lingering pink rings at my wrists that would be gone by morning.  “For loving me, for trusting me… this all right?”  He bent and flexed, twisted and turned, encouraging range of motion and circulation.  “Not sore?”

“No,” I sighed contentedly.  “Not sore.” 

He pressed a kiss to the back of my hand; my fingers twined and played through his as he stroked each digit.  Then, after draping my arms back against the mattress, he leaned over again to steal sweet kisses from my lips.  “And these?  Are they all right as well, after being bound up tight?”  He laughed at the pout I pulled, kissing the corners of my mouth.

“I won’t lie,” I scowled.  “I don’t see myself ever enjoying the gag.  But,” my expression softened, humbled, and my eyes held his as he nuzzled my cheek.  “I understand the lesson, Sir.”

“Oh, my good girl,” he covered my mouth with his once more.

Once my arms had been thoroughly inspected and tended, he returned to the planes of my back.  The flat of his palms, the heels of his hands, the tips of his fingers, the curves of his knuckles, all used with firm, fluid grace to massageaway each knot and ache and twinge.  I hissed and hummed as he worked his touch carefully over each lovebite, actually flapping my hands to shoo him away.  “Stop it!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, love,” he fell to kissing the spot at my hip he’d been tending.  “Hurts?”

“No,” I muttered.  “But when you rub them like that, they don’t last as long.”

He snorted a laugh, then sealed his lips over the spot, sucking hard until I squeaked in delight.  “There, brat,” he punctuated his effort with a noisy kiss.  I sighed in satisfaction and he shifted his weight lower on my legs as he poured more oil into his hands.  He let it drip teasingly into the valley at the small of my back, then used his thumbs in deep, probing circles to work it into my skin.  Flattening his hands, he groped his way gently over my buttocks, nipping gently at me as I sighed.  “No drifting off, love,” he reminded me firmly.

“I’m here, Sir… ow!”  I squirmed a little as his fingertips traced over a welt that curved over one fleshy rise.

“So sorry, little one,” he whispered, kissing the wheal from end to end.  “I’m so very proud of you, Michelle,” he mused warmly.  “You did so amazingly well tonight.”

I shivered, delighted, beneath his praise.  “I did?”

“Mmm-hmm,” his breath danced across my skin, his stubble delicious sandpaper over the already sensitized area.  “We’ve never used a flogger for more than sensation play before…”

“And that one is heavier,” I offered.  “It stings.”

“Does it, now?” He continued working his hands over my glutes, his tone interested, studious.

“Mmm-hmm,” I nodded.  “In a really, really good way.”

“So,” my heart fluttered at the pride in his voice.  “You like it?”

I lifted my head so that our eyes could meet over my shoulder.  “I love it, Tom.”

“I’m so pleased,” he placed a chaste kiss at the base of my spine.  “I almost didn’t find it.  We spent so much time in Split and Trogir, I was near certain I’d have to forgo finding a gift for you completely until the whole thing had wrapped.  But then, about a week before last call, I was looping at this little studio in Zagreb.  We broke for lunch and… oh, I don’t know… wild hair and a smartphone.”  His gaze misted over a bit, his hands still working warm, full circles over my skin.  “It was in a display case… the tails braided… just like your hair.”  I shivered as his cheeks flushed at the memory.  “The sales woman standing at the counter… she smiled at me.  Unlocked the case and took it out.  Said, ‘I’m not certain whom this made you think of, but I’m guessing she’s as far away as that look.’  I nodded, told her I was missing my wife, who was busy doing an amazing job raising my son all on her own in London.  She shook out the tails… took me by my wrist and said, ‘If you cannot put your hands on her, put your hands on this.’”  His vision cleared as his eyes locked with mine once more.  “I knew, in that moment, you had to have it.  That I had to see you come apart underneath it.  And oh, my love,” he pressed another kiss to my back.  “You did not disappoint.”

I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until it rushed out of me in a shuddering sigh.  Turning carefully onto my back, I held my arms out to him, whispering “please” until he crawled back up the bed to take me once again into his embrace.  Our mouths met, parted, met again, and his hand cupped my breast, his fingers just starting to tease at my nipple when a soft knock on the suite door drew our attention.  My stomach gurgled again and our laughter broke the kiss. 

“Just a moment, please,” Tom called out, reaching to fluff the pillows before tucking me into them, the fleece wrapped around my shoulders, my body buried snugly beneath the rest of the linens.  I watched in silence as he slid his long legs back into his jeans, yawning into the back of my hand as he left me to fetch the food.  I could feel a doze trying to set in as I listened to his soft conversation with the attendant, but when he pushed the room service cart through the door and the smell of warm soda bread and sweet honey filled the air, all I could think about was the raw hunger now churning in my gut.  I plucked a soft, fragrant slice from the basket as Tom draped a napkin over my lap, then set about building a plate for us to share.

Easing himself back into bed, he drew me lovingly to his lap, draping me across him and smoothing my hair from my face.  He fed me slowly, in small bites, combinations of tangy fruit and savory cheese, salted olives, and rich, honeyed bites of the cheesecake I’d fallen in love with the first time it sated our sweet tooth after a long day of filming and fucking.  Under it all, the faint, floral sweetness of the oil on his fingers that I nibbled and suckled on as he traced them over my lips.  Once we’d eaten our fill, he returned to his task of rubbing the aches and strains out of the muscles of my legs, leaving a few dark violet kisses on the insides of my thighs as I stretched and sighed above him. 

Finally, with every inch of my skin glowing in the dim lamplight, he left me briefly to start the water in the shower.  Shedding his jeans once more, he carried me into the inviting steam before setting me on my feet beneath the spray.The water, the oil, and the thick, fragrant soap mingled to make our bodies slide deliciously against one another as he held me close, his jaw set in determination as he lathered and rinsed my hair.  I rubbed my own palms over his chest, his shoulders, his back, marveling at the hard lines of muscle under his velvety masculine flesh. 

Looking up at him while he combed every tangle and snarl from my locks, taking such care not to pull or tug, to keep the suds from running into my eyes, it settled into my bones once more how in love with him I truly was.  How much I needed him.  How much I trusted him.  How utterly complete it made me feel to serve and please him and make him happy.  It didn’t matter what he wanted: the touch of my hand, the embrace of my body, the words from my lips, even the breath from my lungs.  It was his, _I_ was his.

And nothing else mattered.

At long last, my hair hanging down my back in a satiny smooth sheet, he took my face in his hands.  “Michelle…”  I shivered at the word, prayer and praise breathed into sound, and tilted my head, my lips parted in invitation.

He accepted, drawing me into a dance of ravenously demanding yet tender kisses that swelled and crested to the rhythm of our steadily racing hearts.  Lips groping, tongues entangled, over and over, and again, and more, the kinds of kisses that made me believe that, without his mouth on mine, there would be no way for either of us to breathe.  His cock swelled between us, and I quivered in delight every time a nudge of my belly or wriggle of my hips caused him to suck air from my lungs or breathe a longing grunt into my mouth.  I slipped a hand between his legs, fondling the sac that hung there, still so swollen and full from a wait that had been far too long. 

“Jesus _fuck_ , Michelle,” he groaned, his head falling back on his neck.  I traced my tongue along the rivulets of water that snaked down over the pulse that throbbed in his throat as his hands groped their way over my ass.  “Tell me, darling, tell me…”

“I’m yours, Tom,” I insisted quietly as he lifted me, slowly and carefully moving his body between my thighs as he wrapped my legs around his waist.  “I’m yours, Sir, I’m yours…”

“And you’re certain?” He breathed gruffly, warily rubbing his rigid length between my sore yet saturated folds.

I nodded sleepily as he cautiously braced my back against the glass wall of the shower, my arms around his neck, my fingers curling into his hair.  “I’m yours, Tom… Sir.  Whatever you want, whatever you need.”

“My sweet little bird,” he shifted his weight, pressing the head of his cock against my entrance and his mouth against my ear.  “Sing for me.”

It was effortless to oblige; I cried out softly as the pain-pleasure of his tender, unhurried penetration wrapped its thorny fingers around my brain, drowning out all other sound and sensation.  The entire world melted to nothing more than those achingly hot and throbbing inches we shared, nothing but gentle thrust and reluctant retreat, his quiet claiming, my soft and sleepy surrender.  He buried his face in my neck, nipped and suckled at my earlobe, dug his fingers into my hips.  I clung to him, moaning, grateful, arching and twisting against every pump of his cock. 

“God, I’ve missed you, Michelle,” he hummed into my ear.  “So soft and sweet and snug and warm and wet, clenching around me, so desperate to take me and keep me inside you.”  He lifted his head, his eyes burning like sapphires.  “You feel like home, love.”  He glanced his tongue between my lips, a teasing taste.  “I’m home, Michelle… I’m finally home.”  Those words from his mouth, truth I’d waited ages to hear and believe, and the floodgates opened.  It was okay; the water from the shower washed the tears from my face as the warmth of his skin melted the last icy flakes of sorrow and regret clinging to my heart.  Rushing from my body on the tide sent to welcome him in, he filled me over and over with renewed hope and promise, every roll of his hips, every stroke of his hands, every kiss from his lips. 

He used me sweetly until his pleasure crested, forcing him forward until he could go no deeper  He held me in a grip like iron as each electric spasm rendered him helpless to do anything but drift along on the current, spilling inside me and barking my name.  And as I stroked my fingers through the wet, heavy silk of his curls, as I kissed his brow and caressed his jaw, as I felt the throb of his heart beating against my own, I realized. 

I was finally home, too. 


	32. Chapter 32

I was half asleep when Tom carried me back to the bed, our bodies wrapped in thick plush towels.  He spread me out on the mattress, drying me off and kissing every inch of skin before picking up my hairbrush.  He turned me carefully onto my stomach, and I tucked my arms under my head as he began to brush out my wet, heavy locks with tender, reverent care.  “It’s getting so long,” he mused softly, smoothing the ends down as far as they would go, well past the middle of my back.

“I can cut it,” I yawned.

He chuckled warmly.  “No, you can’t.”

I don’t know how I managed to stay awake until he finally eased himself into the bed next to me; maybe it was my need to be pillowed on his chest with the lullaby of his heart thrumming slow and steady beneath my ear.  He wrapped me around him like a blanket after giving my wrists one final inspection, sending me off to sleep on the sweetest serenade I knew…

“Tell me, Michelle…”

“I’m yours, Tom.  I’m yours.”

*****************

The next morning dawned dark and stormy, thunder echoing through the suite as the occasional flash of lightning cast a silvery glow through the open curtains.  It drew me from sleep slowly, my mind rising to take in the rumbling sound, the thick, sweet scent on the air, and the amazingly delicious sensations reaching up through my body from below my waist.  “Tom…”

“Good morning, my love,” his breath tickled at the small of my back where he’d been nuzzling and kissing and teasing his tongue.  “Did you sleep well?”

I hummed affirmation as I nodded.  “Better than I have in… ohhhh…”  All coherent thought left my brain as he gently slid his long and well-oiled middle finger into the tight ring of muscle between my buttocks, making me tense in a deliciously feline arch.  “Oh, Tom…”

“Shhh, sweetheart, I know,” he pressed a gentle kiss to the curve of my hip.  “It’s been awhile… I promise to go slow.”  I nodded as he once again nuzzled the base of my spine.  “But, darling, just in case…”

I knew what he expected.  I knew I wouldn’t need it.  I said it anyway.  “Iris.”

“Such a good girl.”

He kept his promise, his touch amazingly gentle as he probed, explored, cautiously preparing me for more by adding lots of lubricant, a second finger, then a third.  He read my body the way he always had, dipping his tongue down to tickle between my swollen lips or caress over my throbbing clit any time I tensed or twitched.  He was so careful that I was aching to be filled long before he used his fist to slicken up his cock, long before he slid the pillows under my hips to support the angle he desired, long before he guided my hands to hold myself open as he slid in slowly, inch by glorious inch.  Once fully seated inside me, he stretched out, his chest pressed to my back, his chin hooked over my shoulder.  His touch slid down my arms, his fingers braided through mine.  Holding my hands tightly, he began to roll. 

“Ohh, _fuck_ … Tom…  Sir…”

“I know, love… _fucking hell_ … I know…”

“Harder… please, Sir… harder…”

“Shh, love, shh…”I moaned in frustration, wriggling just a little beneath him.  One hand released mine, only to smack down sharply on my right cheek.  “I swear to Christ, Michelle…” he gruffed in my ear.

“I’m sorry, Tom, I am,” I whined.  “It just… so good… please…”  My words melted into a long, low moan as he gifted me with one slow, deep thrust that bit and burned and stretched.  “Oh, God, thank you, Sir.”

“Oh, yes, little one,” he brushed a tender kiss to my cheek, his voice thick and heavy with pride and thanks of his own    “I do love your gratitude.”

“I love you, Sir,” I gasped as he pulled back, sank in again.  “I love you… I love you… oh, God, Tom!  Thank you… thank you!”

I continued to babble a stream of broken and aching appreciation as he retreated, advanced, over and over until we were both trembling in our efforts to stave off the exquisite plunge that beckoned.  I could feel his perspiration dripping from his brow, tickling down between my shoulder blades to join my own pooling at the base of my spine.  The heat and pressure of his body intensified when he lay his full weight against me, his hand sliding over my hip to play with the wet, swollen flesh between my legs.  I whimpered in dismayed delight as my body took one more violent hitch towards the precipice, the paradox of _oh, God, yes_ and _wait, not yet,_ spiraling through me like a tornado.

Tom’s velvety chuckle echoed in my ear.  “Signals all deliciously scrambled, my love?”  He pushed his fingers into my cunt, using his hips to grind us both into his touch.  “Not quite sure what to wish for, are you?”  He grazed his thumb over my exposed and throbbing clit.  “It feels oh, so very good, doesn’t it?”  He pressed his fingertips against my g-spot as he slid his cock to the hilt inside me.  “You want it to last,” another teasing rub and thrust.  “But it would feel so exquisite, wouldn’t it,” another tender flick of his thumb.  “To just…let… go…”  Ever his to command, my body began to clench and tighten around him as the taut coil of my pleasure prepared to unravel.  “Michelle,” his tone dark, full of warning.  “Don’t you fucking dare.”

I cried out softly beneath him, wanting so much to rise to his challenge, to give him what he demanded.  But, _oh, God_ , the sweet stretch and burn of holding him inside, the tickling tendrils of ecstasy that spread from his fingers up through my core, the warm and solid and impossible-to-minimize presence of him in every cell of my being…  I was going to fail, and I knew it.  After only a few more rolls of his hips, with herculean effort, I turned my head to kiss his cheek, and beg for the only chance I’d have.  “Please, Sir… please…”

“I’m not done, little one,” a sharp thrust of his cock punctuated his point.  “You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed this tight little ass.”

“I know, Sir,” I could feel the tears of my effort sliding down my cheeks.  “Please… please take your fingers out of my pussy…”

His body stuttered almost imperceptibly against me.  “Michelle…”

“I can’t do it, Tom,” I sobbed quietly.  “I want to wait, I want to be your good girl.  But I can’t, Tom, I can’t.  Your cock feels so good in my ass… and your fingers… oh, God.  It’s too much, Sir, please.” 

“Fucking hell,” he gasped hoarsely, his rhythm faltering as his own raw, consuming need began to take over.  “Oh, Michelle… my perfect little one… just a moment more…”  His fingers slipped from me, grabbed at my hips, digging in hard enough that there would be no mistaking the constellation of bruises he was leaving behind.  Yanking me back against him as he thrust faster, harder, mouthing his way along the crest of my shoulder, his breath blasting over me in moist, licking flames.  Suddenly, as if all strength had failed him, he collapsed on top of me, rutting against me and into me, primal, urgent.  “Ohhhh… now, my love… come with me now…”

His hands on my thighs, my own hands pinned between us, but neither mattered; all I needed to do was grind my hard and swollen clit against the linens beneath me.  And then I was spiraling out over the edge, just on his heels, diving down into the pit of molten color that caught us both and pulled us down into the warm, rich depths where we always found ourselves united… one body, one breath, one heart.

He rolled us gently onto our sides before easing his softening length from me, and I shivered at the trickle of fluid that followed his exit.  He chuckled into my neck, moving above me and smoothing my tousled hair back from my face.  I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him down for a long, lingering kiss, luxuriating in the taste of him flooding over my tongue, basking in every ache and twinge our reunion had left muttering beneath my skin.

We lay in our linen cocoon for hours, sharing whispered endearments and soft, secret touches: exploring, marveling, each of us rediscovering all the spots that made the other gasp and sigh, tremble and quiver.  We fell back to sleep with his head on my belly and my fingers in his curls, only to wake midafternoon both hungry and thirsty.  Tom placed our lunch and dinner orders together and we again ate lounging in bed;the simple sandwiches and strong coffee tasted heavenly.  Our light conversation flowed as easily as the rain against the windows, especially when our phones buzzed with texts from Emma, filled with pictures of our boy splashing in his small plastic pool in the back yard.  We indulged in a brief phone call that allowed us to sing Jack down for his afternoon nap, listening to his soft, steady breathing for a long moment before hanging up. 

After his mobile was set aside and we were once again snuggled against the pillows, Tomplucked the television remote from the nightstand.  He was scrolling through thechannels when Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable appeared on the screen and I grabbed his elbow with a grin.  “There!”

“Really?” He cocked a curious eyebrow at me as I nodded excitedly.

“Old, black and white, funny and romantic,” I wiggled my own brows at him.  “Ellie flashes a nice amount of leg…”

He shrugged, sniffing a small laugh.  “Whatever my little one desires…”

The famous pair were barely off the bus before Tom’s arm around my shoulders shifted, his hand reaching to cover my mouth.  “Stop that.”  I blinked up at him in surprise, and he laughed gently.  “While you’re easily as lovely as Ms. Colbert, hearing Pete’s dialogue in your voice is honestly quite distracting.”

I winced apologetically.  “I’m reciting along?”

“You’re reciting along.”

“I’m sorry.”

A sweet kiss to my temple, and our attention returned to the movie.  But by the time Gable was erecting the walls of Jericho in their own tiny, rain-pelted room, Tom had lost all patience.  Pressing the pause button, he slid out from behind me to hover over me, his eyes burning agates.  “You simply cannot stop yourself, can you?”

I cowered adorably into the pillows, clutching the sheet to my chin in playful intimidation.  “I’m sorry,” I whined cutely.  “I can’t help it.  It’s such a good movie, one of my favorites.  I know every line by heart.”

“Really...”  He lifted his chin a notch, looking sternly down his nose at me.  “All right, then.”  His hand at my hip caught the sheet in his fist and he dragged it slowly down, raising goosebumps over every inch of skin he revealed.  When I was fully bared before him, he positioned me carefully, sitting up against the headboard, my knees bent, my legs spread wide.  “Let’s play a little game.”

I swallowed audibly.  “Oh-okay…”

He leaned close, sliding his tongue between my lips in a slow, sultry kiss.  My toes were just starting to curl against the mattress when he pulled away, moving to settle comfortably between my thighs, his chin resting on the swell just below my navel.  “You want to speak this movie to me?  I’ll listen to you.”  His gaze crawled over me, my teeth worrying my lower lip, my nipples peaking to hard points, my tummy fluttering beneath his words.  “I’ll watch you.”  He shifted slightly lower, his breath ghosting over my rapidly plumping and moistening folds.  “I’ll taste you as well.”

“Oh, God… Tom…”

“You know every line by heart,” he mused, nuzzling gently at my mound.  “So this should be an easy win for you, yes?”

“I… well… I…”

The tip of his tongue glanced against the hood of flesh that concealed my clitoris, and I whimpered as I felt the familiar throb of the tiny bud waking, rising to meet his touch.  “Speak the movie to me, little one, to the very last line, and I will eat you to a positively earth-shattering orgasm that will leave you screaming my name in thanks.”

I shifted against the mattress as I felt my arousal begin to drip down onto it.  “Wh-what if I can’t?”

He smiled magnanimously, a chaste kiss to my pubis.  “You can.”

“B-b-but what if I can’t?”

His expression hardened ever so slightly, the stern edge to his voice slipping in through my folds to wrap its fingers around my burning core.  “You will.”

After a brief stare down that felt like an eternity, I gave a small but resolute nod.  With a beautifully predatory grin, Tom picked up the remote, and by the time Ellie had scuttled to her own side of the curtain, his tongue was swirling around my clit with lazy determination.  I narrowed my eyes, determined to focus on the action on the screen, and pull forth the words I knew were embedded in my brain.  I was coasting along nicely, wriggling every now and then against the pull of his lips or the flickering of his tongue, enjoying his efforts as I began to play the film as much in my mind as I watched it on the screen, a most pleasurable experience indeed.

The mock-marriage squabble was on my lips, I even affected Colbert’s little grimace as I spouted her line.  “Oh, Peter Warne, you’ve gone far enough, I won’t sit here and…”

Tom’s velvety growl brought my groove to a screeching halt.  “Oh, but you will sit here, my love, and see just…”  A thrust of his tongue.  “How…” Another, deeper.  “Far I can go.”  He pressed his mouth against my cunt, pushing his tongue roughly into my slit, as far as he could reach. 

My jaw unhinged as I desperately drew in air, but as quickly as his delicious assault had started, it stopped, his touch withdrawing and leaving me empty and aching.  His hand flicked over the remote, and the scene on the screen spiraled backward.  I stared at him in shock as he cocked an arrogant eyebrow.  “That’s not how it goes, darling.  Care to try again?”

The rhythm I’d had never truly returned, much to Tom’s amused delight.  I shook and sweated my way through six recitations of the three proper methods for hitchhiking, stumbled through Peter’s speech about being in love over and over, tripped over Ellie’s “take me” again and again.  Tom’s rhythm, on the other hand, never faltered once.  He drew my excitement from me like nectar from a flower, licking gently, sucking firmly, his strong and nimble tongue full of parry and thrust while his lips groped and tugged.  By the time the trumpet sounded and the curtain wall came down, I was flat on my back beneath him, my fingers clenched in his hair as I bucked up into his mouth.  His name rose from my throat as prayer and praise as my climax tore through me, one hot, sweet, biting wave after another. 

When I finally collapsed, limp and quaking against the mattress, he crawled back above me, sinking into my body with a low, growled, “Well done, my girl.”  I could taste myself on him, first in every hungry, searing kiss, then again when he pulled out of me to push his straining length into my warm, waiting mouth.  His hand on the back of my head, his fingers curling against my scalp, his release flowed over my tongue like salted honey.  And then he was in my arms once more, and my existence was pure and potent: the blue of his eyes, the heat of his skin, and the sound of his heart beating in time to the cadence of the rain on the window. 

Another sweaty, sultry day, another lazy, lust-filled night, and our weekend of escape was over.  And it was more than all right.  I could see the evidence that the storm had passed spread out before me, visible in Tom’s relaxed and easy smile, tangible in the crimson pink and purple marks his mouth left scattered on my skin.  I was busy fluffing the bed linens, wanting to make certain I wasn’t leaving some forgotten lace or silk souvenir for the housekeepers to find, when he returned from settling our tab and loading our bags into the car.  “Oh, my love, it’s a lost cause,” he chuckled, embracing me from behind and biting playfully at my neck.  “After that glorious performance of yours last night, your sweet scent is everywhere…”I giggled self-consciously before turning to face him, winding my arms around his neck.  His palms spanned my waist, caressed their way over my buttocks.  “Bit of a drive ahead of us,” he teased.  “You aren’t too sore to manage, I hope.”

I shook my head, teasing one fingertip around his ear.  “Not too sore,” I reassured him quietly.  “Take me home, Sir.”

The sun was just beginning to make its descent when Tom eased the Forester into Diana’s driveway, rousing me from my nap with a kiss and a tender tug on my braid.  Eleni answered the door with a welcoming grin, a burp cloth over one shoulder and a bottle in her hand.  “Mr. and Mrs….”  She stopped short at Tom’s playful scowl.  “Sorry, sorry.  Tom!  Michelle!  Welcome home!”  Tom ushered me through the door first, and I hugged the woman as he dropped a kiss on her cheek.  “You both look so wonderful!  It must have been a lovely trip.”

“It was,” Tom nodded, following her to where Jack’s things sat packed and awaiting our departure.  “Did he give you any trouble?” He asked as he shouldered the bags to take to the car.

“Not a whimper,” she assured us, squeezing my hand.  “So, how was it?  Any sightseeing?  Lavish dinners out?  Dancing all night?”

“Oh, no,” I smiled, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.  “It wasn’t that kind of getaway.  We mostly just bummed around our suite, ordered in room service, slept at all hours.”

“We did watch the most amazing film,” Tom quipped over his shoulder as he pulled open the door.  “A Gable film – ‘ _It Happened One Night_ ’.  Have you seen it?”

“Oh, I haven’t,” Eleni replied.  “I’ve heard it’s very good, though.”

“Oh, it is,” Tom grinned.  “A delicious little morsel.  You should have Michelle tell you all about it, she knows every word.”

I forced myself not to glare at his retreating back as my cheeks burned, and to ignore the curious quirk of the sitter’s brow as I offered her a weak smile.  We moved into the kitchen, where we packed up the bottles from the fridge while waiting for Tom to return.  “Let me just get Squeaker from the dryer,” she zipped the cooler bag closed.  “We had an unfortunate applesauce incident at lunch.”  Tom and I laughed as she urged us towards the back door.  “Your boy is just outside with his auntie and his nana.”

Tom and I paused side by side at the polished glass for a long moment, drinking in the wonder of the sight before us.  The ladies had spread a blanket in the center of Diana’s garden, not far from where we’d stood to speak our vows to one another.  In the center, Jack perched on all fours, his silky curls shining in the slowly fading sunlight.  Emma crouched in front of him to his left, Diana to his right.  His wet pink gums and two front teeth were on gleeful display as he giggled madly at their cooing efforts to coax him forward.  “Our boy,” Tom beamed, slipping an arm around my waist and nuzzling a sigh into my hair.  “Look at how he’s teasing them…”

I turned my face up to my husband with a wicked grin.  “He gets that from his father.”

A quick slap to my ass, and Tom was pulling the door open.  Jack’s little laugh drifted on the warm evening breeze, winding through the tea roses and cyclamen and making us both smile and hug one another closer as we crossed to the edge of the porch.  Emma and Diana were adorably encouraging, “Come on, Jack!  Come on, come over here, you can do it!”  But the boy simply sat planted to the ground in the shade of the oak, rocking back and forth on his hands and knees, occasionally resting his cheek on the blanket, his little rump in the air.  Diana caught sight of us first, raising her arm in greeting.  “Hello, you two!”

“Hello, Mum!”

At the sound of Tom’s voice, Jack’s head bobbed upright, and a high-pitch squall of delight burst forth from his wide-grinning mouth.  Then, as we watched, his plump little arms and long little legs began to piston in concert, and I clapped my hand over my mouth as my son launched himself like a rocket toward us.  I felt Tom shift at my side, his knees weakening in shocked surprise as he cheered the baby on.  “That’s it, Jack-Jack!  Come on, my boy, come to Daddy!”

Emma and Diana had both bounced to their feet, laughing and clapping as the tiny body crawled across the blanket, closing the distance between himself and his father at a speed I’d not expected.  Tom’s hand at my hip tugged me forward, off the porch steps, and we knelt together, my hand on Tom’s shoulder, his arms held out in front of him.  Once Jack was in reach, Tom swept him into his embrace, and we both fell to kissing his soft, rosy cheeks.  “Did you see that, Mummy?”   Tom grinned at me, a single tear sneaking from the corner of one eye.  “Did you see our boy go?”

“I did,” I gushed excitedly, wiping his face tenderly with my thumb before catching his lips with my own. 

I vaguely remember the door sliding open behind us, the muted chatter as Emma announced to Eleni that Jack had finally started to crawl.  I’m sure the other three women were clustered around us, smiling and laughing and sharing our joy.  But the real picture of that day that lingers in my mind is a pair of identical blue eyes staring one back at the other, two broad dimpled smiles mirrored between.  The way Tom’s kiss brushed so delicately against Jack’s forehead.  The way Jack’s cheek came to rest on Tom’s chest, his head tucked perfectly beneath his chin.  The two arms that reached for me, one long and strong around my shoulders, one small but steady, with curious fingers that curled, as was becoming their habit, around the collar at my throat.

And as the last light of the sun finally disappeared, I felt the whispered words ghost across my cheek as much as I heard them echo in my ears.  “Tell me, Michelle…”  And he soothed away my own tears with the soft bow of his lips as I replied.

“We’re yours, Tom.  We’re yours.”


	33. Chapter 33

“Tom?  Sir, can you come get him, please?”

I was sitting in my chair in the study and clicking away at my laptop keyboard when Tom appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowing in confusion.  “Where is he?”

I glanced up, my heart fluttering just a bit at the sight of his scruffy jaw and pale blue t-shirt.  “He’s teething on my shoe,” I explained, laughing at his expression when he caught sight of little legs sticking out from under my desk.

“What in the world…” He muttered in amusement and I gasped in surprise as he himself got down on his knees and squeezed in under the arch beside the baby.  “Hiya, Sprout,” his voice was muffled beneath the heavy oak frame.  “What on Earth are you doing down here?”

“Ow,” I yelped as the boy again dug his teeth into my leather clad toes.  “Ruining my favorite pair of Jimmy Choo’s is what it feels like…” 

I heard both my boys giggle as I pulled my feet back under my chair.  “You know, Jack-Jack, if you really want to make Mummy squirm…”

“Tom!”  I yelped as his fingers tickled their way up my denim clad legs.  “I am trying to work here, for God’s sake!”

“Really, darling?”  He purred.  “It looks to me, from the way you’re pressing your thighs together, that you’d much rather play.” 

“Would you two get out from under there?”

“Absolutely.  Just as soon as you spread those lovely legs for me, darling.”

“Tom!”

“Come on, little one.  We both know there’s a wet spot on the seam of your jeans now.  A quick inspection, and I’ll be on my way.  Now.  Spread your legs.”

Shaking my head, biting down on my lip, I slowly did as I was told, mindful that there were little fingers underfoot.  I closed my eyes and exhaled a silent whimper as I felt Tom’s lips press against my knee, his chuckle of satisfaction warming my skin through the fabric.  “There now,” he scooted back and rose, scooping the baby up and planting his diapered bottom on one lean hip.  “Not hard at all, was it?”

I raised an eyebrow as I shifted my gaze to his groin.  “Maybe… just a little hard…”

He grinned, rounding the desk to wrap my hair around his fist without adjusting the weight in his fly, letting me see I was not entirely wrong.  “Well, you know what your scent does to me, sweet,” he cooed as he pulled my head back, dropping a kiss into the hollow of my throat.

“Mmmf,” I grunted as he tugged at my collar with his teeth.  “Yeah.  That doesn’t completely derail my train of thought, Hiddleston.  Not even a little.”

His stubble burned up over my chin and he brushed his lips over mine.  “You’ll get back on track,” he hummed softly.  “Otherwise, the plug stays in the drawer tonight.”  His hand in my hair tightened as his gaze burned through me, and I gave a tiny, trembling nod. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“There’s my good girl.”  Another heartbeat of heat, and he disengaged, releasing his hold on my brain as easily as he let go my braid.  “Give Mummy a kiss, Jack-Jack, she’s back to work now.”  He swung the boy over me, and he giggled adorably as I planted several noisy kisses in the soft, warm skin of his neck.  I watched Tom carry our son from the room, admiring the roll of his muscular ass inside his jeans before blowing my bangs back from my forehead and refocusing on the screen in front of me.  I’d only typed a few more lines when my mobile began to buzz on my desktop, a well-known number flashing across the screen.  Sitting back in my chair with a sigh, I picked up the device and put it to my ear.  “Hey Grace, what’s up?”

“I hope you’re sitting down, Chelle,” the woman’s thick Southern drawl never failed to make me smile, even when it was wrapped around words with ominous implications.

“Ugh,” I grunted, rubbing the heel of my hand over my brow.  “I am.  Good news? Or bad?”

“Not too sure yet, darlin’.”  She paused for a breath.  “Ursula flew the coop.”

My chair squealed soundly as I sat bolt upright.  “You’re kidding.”  I’d privately nicknamed my primary Doubleday editor after _The Little Mermaid’s_ sea witch years before.  It seemed perfectly apt, given her penchant for sticking her tentacles far too deep into my work, constricting them too tightly when she was less than fond of the projects I’d chosen, and my certainty that, even though a portion of her own pay was based on my success, she’d have been happy if my voice had fallen silent for good.  Many of the publishing higher-ups credited my accomplishment to her hard, unyielding hand; Grace and I knew the truth was that they blossomed in spite of it.  “She’s gone?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I could hear the beaded chain that kept her reading glasses around her neck tinkling, and I could picture her dropping them to dangle against her chest.  “Apparently she’s been trying to crawl into bed with Bloomsbury for over a year, and she finally convinced them to let her under the covers.”

“Wow,” I sniffed.  “Hope they use a condom.”

“Chelle…”

“Sorry, Grace.”  I ran a bewildered hand through my hair.  “So… what does this mean?”

"Well, you could exercise your option to follow her..."  I interrupted that line of exposition with a rudely affected bout of coughing.  "Yeah, yeah, I've already told the office in New York to make it clear to her to leave behind any and all material she held, published or not."

"Thank you, Grace," I smiled, rocking in my chair with a sigh.  "So...?"

"So," she sniffed.  "Tomorrow morning, ten o'clock. The Vauxhall offices.  You'll meet your new editor."

"New..."  I froze.  "You mean... they've already assigned me to someone?"

"Not officially," a soft clicking told me she was mousing through information on her computer screen.  "But it sounds like they've got someone chomping at the bit."

My own machine chimed to let me know there was a message waiting for me in my email inbox; I opened it with interest.  "Wow," I breathed softly.  "I don't know that I can imagine working with someone who actually wants to read my writing."

"Chelle, the gorgon is gone.  Do we really have to go through this again?"

"I guess not," I hummed absently, clicking the "print" icon and pulling the sheet of paper from the tray to study the information a bit closer.  "Tomorrow, ten a.m."

"Chelle?"

"Hm?"

"Leave tall, hot and British at home.  You don't need him to sell you."

I grinned at the ceiling in annoyed affection.  "Of course I'm leaving him at home, Grace.  Someone has to watch the baby."

"Speaking of," her voice flooded with warmth. 

We spoke for a few more minutes about Jack's new found mobility, the third tooth breaking through his bottom gum, my and Tom's brief Irish getaway, and our impending arrival for a Carolina summer.  Once we'd hung up, I slipped my mobile into my pocket.  One glance at my laptop screen was all I needed to know the words had dried up, at least for the day.  Closing my active document, I scrolled through my files until I found my open contract with Doubleday.  I printed it out, along with the preselected excerpts that I'd been planning to submit before leaving on holiday.  Then I attached them all to a casually worded email of introduction, sending it off to the address listed with the contact information Grace had sent.  Then, with a heavy sigh, I switched off my computer and, leafing through my commission agreement, I headed for the living room.

Tom was sprawled on the carpet with Jack, lying on his side with his head propped on one arm, helping the baby stack brightly colored plastic blocks one on top of the other.  "Hey, you," his voice was a velvety purr.  "What did I say about getting back on track?"

"Yeah," I rounded the couch to belly-flop onto it, handing him the email Grace had sent so he could scrutinize it for himself.  "That's... not happening, Sir.  I'm sorry."

He frowned a bit as he glanced over the printed page.  "Who's this?"

I waited for his gaze to meet mine.  "My new editor."

"New..." His own eyes clouded a bit in confusion, then lit up, crinkling at the corners.  "Ursula's gone?"

"Evidently," I sighed, waggling my fingers with a grin as Jack waved a block at me before tucking it into his wet, pink mouth.  "On to bigger things, better things..."

"Where did she go?"

"Bloomsbury."

Tom snorted a laugh through his nose.  "Appropriate.  Rowling's house has a new Dementor."

I choked on my mirth at the comment, burying my face in the soft cushions.  "God, I love you."  I lay that way for a long moment, kicking my feet absently against the sofa arm until I felt the weight of his stare.  "I'm fine, Tom."

"I'm sure you are, love."  His voice was steady, even, but I turned my head to face him anyway, drawing comfort from the quiet vigilance that underscored his expression.  "And you're certain writing's a wash for the day?"  I nodded.  "Well then," he patted the floor in front of him.  "Come build with us."  I slid to the floor with a smile, kissing the baby's head as I scooted past, aligning my back with Tom's chest.  He molded his body to the curve of mine, one arm falling easily over my waist, his nose nuzzling against the back of my head.  An embrace free from expectation, merely a gesture of possession, of reassurance, and I snuggled gratefully back against him.

And so he was for the remainder of the afternoon, close and constant, unobtrusive, observing.  After we'd moved Jack to his crib for his nap, he took up a couple of scripts, accepting the tea I offered with a lingering kiss and a tug on my hair.  I moved easily through my chores, tidying the scattered toys, folding laundry, sorting out the clothes that Jack had outgrown.  I collected up the things that I had printed and tucked them into my portfolio.  Every now and again, I would feel myself held by that warm, blue stare, would turn to see him gazing at me with a gentle concern that was neither persecuting nor patronizing.  He would smile at me at me before turning his attention elsewhere, but the connection never broke; that evening, before clearing the table, I slid easily into his lap.  I caressed his neck as I wound my arms around him, my fingers stroking through the short, silky hair at the base of his skull.  He smelled of spicy oak and Jack's burrowing little hugs, he tasted like the rich wine and honeyed chicken we'd had for dinner.

"Mmm," his palms rubbed over my back when I released him.  "Where did that come from?"

I shrugged, casting my eyes down, playing a fingertip along the neckline of his t-shirt.  "I just really love you."

"I really love you, little one."  His own fingers played with my collar at the hollow of my throat a moment before nudging my chin up.  "You're all right?"

I paused to consider the question, meeting his eye and answering as honestly as I could.  "I think so."  He watched me closely for a few long beats, his hands continuing their gentle vertical passes up and down my spine.  I bore his scrutiny easily, and felt myself glow just a bit when his expression relaxed and his lips dusted against my forehead.

We tidied the kitchen together, bathed our boy together.  The delight in his face wasn't easily hidden when I held out both the yawning baby and the warm bottle.  "You're certain?"  I nodded, following him to the rocker beside Jack's bedroom window and helping him settle in with a kiss for each of them.  I paused in the doorway, snapping a picture with my mobile, father and son caught rapt in one another's gaze, bathed in spills of silver moonlight.  It occurred to me that such a moment was worth catching on actual film, and I padded down the hall, into our room, meaning to fetch the Nikon from its corner on a shelf in our closet.

That was where Tom found me half an hour later, rummaging through dresses and suits, inspecting each with a furrowed brow and a nose scrunched in critical disappointment.  "Darling?"  His tone sweet, gentle as he leaned in the doorway.  "Everything all right?"

"Mmm-hmm," I hummed absently, draping a coffee-colored frock against my figure in front of the full length mirror before pulling a face and snapping it back onto the rack.  Beside it, a crimson A-line with black detailing caught my eye.  I pressed it to my chest with one hand while pulling my hair up and back with the other.  "Ugh... no..."  I returned it to the rod and began sliding hangers aside once more.

"Wear the violet Calvin Klein."

"Umm," I continued to scrape dress after dress along the closet wall.  "I was thinking the black DKNY..."

"Michelle."

The edge in his tone froze me, melted me at once, and I turned to give him my full attention, the deferential title he'd never once demanded falling from my lips with comfortable ease.  "Sir?"

He stood straight, proud and powerful, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.  His expression was stern yet serene, and I could feel the anxiety that had been bubbling in my gut at a slow simmer start to cool and drain away, replaced by deliciously tranquil anticipation. 

"You'll wear the violet Calvin Klein."

"Yes, Sir." I turned to pluck the dress he spoke of from the rack: soft linen, fetching lace neckline.  He nodded, and I hooked the hanger over my valet, smoothing the skirt down with a delicate sweep of my palm.

"Very good.  Now," he held out his hand, braiding his fingers through mine when I gave him my own.  He led me out to my armoire, and with one eye on me, moved smoothly from drawer to drawer.  A black silk bra, the matching whisper of panties, sheer silk stockings, a purple lace garter belt with suspenders of violet satin.  I accepted them all with reverent appreciation.  "My favorite black heels," he said simply after the last item was draped across my open palms.  "The ones that buckle around your ankles."  I nodded, feeling my cheeks pink; I'd never worn those pumps without him fucking me senseless before allowing me to slip them off.  He smiled, recognizing the memories as they flittered across my features.  He paused to tuck a stray wisp of curl behind my ear.  "You'll wear your hair down," he mused quietly.  "You can select a pair of earrings, if you like.  Otherwise," he hooked a finger under my collar and gave a gentle tug.  "This is all the decoration you need."  I shivered, nodding my cooperation, and he ticked his chin towards the closet once more. 

I followed his wordless instruction, carrying my trousseau to the valet and draping the lingerie over the hanger before finding the shoes to set on the floor in front of it.  It did the trick.  Looking over the ensemble now hanging and waiting for me to put it on heightened my sense of calm, of control - one less decision to fret over, one more hurdle crossed.  Kicking off my socks and shoes, I switched off the light before turning to head back into the bedroom. 

Tom was seated in the leather chair when I appeared in the bathroom doorway, his appearance rooting me to the floor as much as his softly intoned, "Stop."  His back was straight, elbows resting on the arms, his hands resting on his wide sprawled thighs, unapologetic, undeniable.  On the table beside him, next to a small vial of lube, the jeweled head of my favorite princess plug cut the soft light into dazzling prisms; my lips above went dry as the ones below were flooded with excitement. 

_Yes, Tom, yes... please... thank you..._

"Stand up straight," he commanded softly.  "Eyes on mine, love.  Always on mine."

"Yes, Sir."

His cheeks colored a bit with proud arousal.  "My good girl."  He licked his lips.  "Unbutton your jeans."

I was surprised.  I'd expected he'd want me to strip for him, but I hadn't guessed he'd want to start at the bottom.  Not that it mattered; suddenly, all I wanted in the world was to be naked before his gaze.  Reminding myself to only do as I'd been told, I slipped the steel tab from its denim hole, and waited.  His teeth flashed as his grin of approval widened.  "Unzip them and show me what pretty thing you've dressed my sweet little cunt in today."

I flushed as I obeyed, watching him lick his lips as I revealed white baby doll lace, edged in royal blue satin, the pale pink skin of my waxed mound peeking out through the eyelets.  My jeans cast aside, he directed me button by button until my blouse slid from my shoulders, only to be joined on the floor a moment later by my bra.  Months of nursing had left my nipples a ruddier shade of pink than before, and watching Tom's fingers twitch on his thighs as his eyes crawled over their hardening points, his lips parting a bit as if to make room for them in his mouth, sent another rush of wetness surging between my legs.  A heartbeat later his eyes slid shut, and my knees trembled beneath me as he inhaled, long and slow, through his nose.  "Take those panties off slowly, my love," he growled.  "And let me see you drip down your thighs."

"Yes, Sir."

I stood bare before him, goosebumps flocking over every curve, through every valley as he took in the landscape we both knew was his, his kingdom, his playground, his refuge, his home.  And when his gaze met mine once more, I knew.  Before he said it, before his lips even parted to speak.  I knew.  But I waited, his to command.

"On your knees, my love.  Crawl to me."

It wasn't difficult to sink to the floor in one fluid motion, wasn't hard to keep my eyes on his face as I moved carefully, deliberately, my heart surging at the pride and lust rising in his features in equal measure.  When I'd closed the distance between us, he enveloped me in his smile, one fingertip passing tenderly over my brow.  "Kneel for me, little one."

I tucked my legs beneath me, resting my cheek against his knee and gazing up at him in utter worship.  The world's dizzying spin had slowed, and it very nearly stopped when he curled one hand in my hair, the other carefully around my throat.  His fingertips teased my collar against my skin, his thumb marked the responding flutter of my pulse.  "I want you to listen to me very carefully, little bird."  His eyes were an ocean of safety and security, beckoning me to float on the current, to sink beneath the gently lapping waves, to find myself as I always did in the warm blue of their depths. 

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl."  He ghosted his lips against my forehead, and then, his voice.  Quiet, controlled, loving and deep, the voice of my Tom, my Dom, the voice that had become my way, my truth, my light in the darkness.  "No one rules your heart but me.  No one knows your mind like I do.  And I am telling you right now, Michelle," his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.  "Nothing happens tomorrow that you cannot handle... that you are not ready for... that you have not spent years hoping and praying would happen.  Do you understand me?"

I could feel the start of grateful tears prickling the corners of my eyes.  "I understand, Tom."

"No more worry about tomorrow.  Not one more thought for it tonight."

"Yes, Sir."

His grip tightened on me, just a bit, just enough to let me know he needed to be there for me at least as much as I needed him.  "Let me help you handle tomorrow, my love..."  A chaste, loving kiss to my lips.  "Give your strength to me tonight."

I nodded, smiling as my love for him escaped my eyes and reflected the golden lamplight in streaks down my cheeks.  "It's yours, Tom," I invoked.  "I'm yours."

His tongue filled my waiting mouth, his eyes closing as he consumed me with the soft yet unyielding groping of his lips.  I opened to him, letting him draw all tension from me through our shared breath, whimpering softly when far too soon he pulled away.  He rose from the chair to stand above me, long and lean, and I simply could not resist.  Eyes open and clear and fixed on his, I rubbed my cheek against the hard ridge beneath his zipper, flushing with pride as he swallowed with a click.  His hand still in my hair gave a gentle nudge.  "Sweet little one," he murmured softly.  "Unbuckle my belt."

I curled my shaking fingers around the thick leather strap, biting my lip at the metallic clink that heralded its release.  Tom pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it aside, baring a landscape of muscle and sinew that rolled beneath warm, golden flesh.  I breathed in the scent of him, musky and male, letting my gaze wander over rises and valleys I knew by sight and by taste: the raindrop-scatters of freckles, the shy dimple of his navel, the line of his hips guiding me lower and lower.  With a glimmer of mischief in his eye, he instructed me to open his button and zipper; I could have giggled in childish delight when the denim parted before me to reveal nothing underneath but more fair skin and curling flaxen hair.  I nuzzled into him, relishing his shudder, and the heavy whisper of his jeans falling to the floor. 

His cock hung thick and heavy between his legs, filling slowly.  It never ceased to amaze me how the skin stretched over such hard muscle could be so velvety soft.  My fingers itched to touch, to caress, to slide his foreskin back and bare his blushing and sensitive crown to my lips and tongue.  Years of our training and conditioning took over, and I thrust my hands to the small of my back, plaiting my fingers as I fixed my gaze on his face once more.  His beaming smile of delight made my toes curl against the carpet, his honeyed praise washing over me like a warm tide.  "My perfect little bird, how very proud of you I am."  He grasped his shaft in his left hand, the back of my head in his right.  "Open your mouth, my love."

I obeyed with a shiver, making sure to keep my eyes open and my voice silent.  I could tell from his grip in my hair and the determined set of his jaw that I would get very little warm up, and I shifted all my focus and concentration to the mechanics of my neck and jaw.  Tilting my head to the most accommodating angle, stretching my tongue, I ignored the tears that leaked from my eyes as he took my throat in long, deep thrusts.  The perfect blend of sweet and savage, he gave me just enough time to recover from each cough and gag before sliding in again.  And through every roll of his hips, every push from his hands, his voice instructed, corrected, encouraged. 

"Mind your teeth, love... there's my girl.  Let me feel your tongue, sweetheart... _oh, fuck_... yes... just like that.  Deeper, love, deeper.  That's it, you can do it.  Oh, Michelle... suck, my love... and swallow... oh, Jesus _Christ_... swallow..."

He used my mouth to bring himself to the brink over and over, only to slow and pull back before spilling down my throat.  In those moments of recovery, he would tease just the tip of his cock between my lips, push my head down so I could lick and suck at his balls, and watch me take the endless direction for his pleasure.

"Pinch those lovely little nipples, darling, make them nice and hard.  You like that don't you, those little tiny tweaks and twinges, the ones that make that tight little pussy clench even tighter.  Christ, I bet you are fucking soaked right now, aren't you, little one?  Show me, sweet... reach down and play with my soft little cunt... let me see how wet you are..."

I couldn't get my hand between my legs fast enough, and I moaned softly around the heavy sac in my mouth at the delicious sensation of my fingers slipping between my swollen and saturated folds.  The heel of my hand grazed the hard, seeking head of my clit and a flood of arousal surged over my palm.  Tom grabbed my arm, guiding me to stroke the fluid over his shaft before thrusting back into my mouth.  "Taste yourself, love... taste yourself on my cock..."

My hand returned to press against the aching cleft between my legs as he fucked my mouth, harder, faster.  "Oh, yes, little minx.  Slip two fingers up into that hungry little cunt.  Find that spot, love, the one that makes you writhe and scream.  Rub it, Michelle.  Rub that sweet little spot until all you can think of is how badly you want to come, how badly you need to come, how your very heartbeat depends on it."  I was nodding against him, whimpering around him, my fingertips working the swollen little nub inside me with desperate abandon.  "Fucking hell, little one, I love you so much..."  With that, his hands in my hair yanked me off his cock and to my feet, and he wrenched my arm around behind my back, swallowing my scream of frustrated denial in a savage, searing kiss.

He held me tightly against him, his throbbing cock leaking against my belly, his mouth ravaging mine until my shaking and sobbing had subsided.  He held my face in his hands for a long moment until he was certain I had regained some manner of steadiness, smoothing my hair back from my sweat-soaked brow and kissing my forehead.  "Such a good girl," he soothed as I hitched in stacks of air, exhaling in a long, shuddering sigh.  "My good, sweet girl."  His eyes searched mine.  "Are you with me, Michelle?"

I nodded, swiping a hand at one tear-streaked cheek.  "I'm here, Sir."

"Lovely," he sighed before stepping aside and guiding me to the chair.  "Come along, little princess.  Your throne awaits."

He let me grasp the headrest as he lifted each of my legs into the position he desired, knees bent, thighs spread wide, every inch of me on display.  Then his palm came to rest between my shoulders, just below my neck, pushing my breasts flush with the leather and my head down over the back, my hair spilling around my face in a thick, dark curtain.  "So fucking beautiful," he murmured as he grazed his mouth over the planes of my back, teasing me with soft flickers of his tongue and sharp nips from his teeth.  "You will show me your control tonight, Michelle, do you understand?"

I nodded, my breath escaping in a small sob as he bit down on the fleshy curve of one hip.  "Yes, Sir."

"You will not make a sound unless I ask for it," he intoned before sucking heat to the surface of my skin.

"Yes, Sir."

"You will not move without my instruction."

"No, Sir, I won't."

"And Michelle?"  His tongue licked fire up my spine before he pressed his mouth to my ear.  "If you come without permission tonight, I promise you..."  His large, warm palm cracked sharply against my ass, pushing a surprised bark of delighted discomfort from my throat.  "Hell.  To.  Pay."

Tears of abject appreciation slid past my lashes to fall silently to the carpet.  "I love you, Tom."

"I love you, little one."

Cool air breezed across my body as he withdrew, and I closed my eyes to drink in the sensation of his gaze moving over me an inch at a time, inspecting, admiring.  I could hear his approving exhale as my arousal dripped from my achingly empty cunt, the creak of leather as he leaned close to catch a taste with his tongue.  My legs were wracked with fine tremors as he danced just the tip along every exposed and tender ridge, dipping ever so briefly into my slit, swirling lightly around my clit for one agonizingly quick heartbeat.  "So hot," he murmured, kissing me sweetly.  "So sweet."  One firm lick with the flat of his tongue dragged my wetness up to the tightly drawn entrance of my ass, and it took every ounce of strength I had to not cant my hips back in a silent plea for more.

I was so lost in the tickling, taunting lashes and thrusts that I never felt him reach for the plug, never heard the click of the bottle of lube snapping open.  All I knew was, all at once, there was exquisitely unbearable pressure, enough to open but not enough to penetrate, and I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming.  "Control," he breathed into the sensitive flesh at the base of my spine, rotating the metal bulb in gentle ellipses.  Nudging a bit deeper, pulling back but not away, again, and more, until I was certain my teeth would rend me bloody, that my nails would tear through the thick covering of the headrest I clung to with ragged desperation. 

"Would you like to beg, my sweet?"  His voice was warm and engaging, and I nodded frantically beneath his affectionate chuckle.  "Softly, love..."

"Please, Tom," I whispered hoarsely.  "Sir... please... please don't make me wait anymore.  Plug me, Sir... please..."

"Perfect." 

A trickle of cold as he dripped more lubricant over the snug ring of muscle, and my body began to weep thankful perspiration as he slid the implement home, giving me a moment to adjust before tapping the sparkling head in playful satisfaction.  "What do you say, sweetheart?"

"Thank you, Sir," I whimpered softly, basking in the paradox of unfulfilled contentment swirling through my brain and body.

"Are you ready for my cock, darling?"

I nodded again.  "Please..."

"What do I want, Michelle?"

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, took a deep breath to try and quiet my pounding heart.  "Control, Sir."

His heat enveloped me as he bent over my body, aligning the head of his cock with the open and beckoning slit between my legs.  "Show me, love.  Show me."

I drew in air as his hands caressed my waist, my hips, my ass, then reached to spread me wide.  He pushed forward, a languid roll of his body that slowly stretched me to my absolute limit.  "That's it, sweet," his tone commanding, controlled as he rubbed his shaft against the different pressure points inside me while I held myself clenched in iron stasis, my voice locked inside my throat.  "Dear God, Michelle... how far you've come." 

I opened my mouth to thank him, only to snap it shut on a surprised squeal when he pushed hard against my cervix.  "Nicely done, darling."  His commendation made me shudder in delight, and he thrust again at the rippling of my muscles around him.  My fingers dug into the chair once more, and he caught my wrists easily, bringing them to the small of my back.  He drew me into a taut arch, leaving my head hanging over the back of the chair.  Without the warm, soft leather pressed against them, my breast bounced sharply with every jerk of his hips, my nipples swelling and straining for the tantalizing brushes of contact that met them when he was pushed forward to the hilt.  The tiniest of whines escaped my nostrils, and he lifted one hand to stroke tenderly at my hair.  "Control..."

He took his pleasure from me slowly, dragging every inch of his length over and around each rise and curve of the muscles that held him.  Deep, brutal strokes that left me holding my breath in anticipation of the next melted into hungry little pulsations of his most sensitive spots against the firm swell of the plug, shifting it subtly inside me before prodding it back with his thumb.  Every gasp I held back seem to fall from his lips a heartbeat later, every silent plea of my body answered with breathy grunt or low, throaty groan.  My palms flattened against the hard muscle of his stomach as he bent over me, and my thighs tightened in reflexive defense as his fingers delved between them to play roughly with my swollen, slippery clit.  "Shhh, darling," he soothed me with a nip of his teeth to the nape of my neck.  "Control... show me..."

I shook my head briefly, tears and sweat dripping from my chin to be swallowed and forgotten by the thick carpet.  My head swirled dizzily with the dueling demands of my mind and my body, one battling to stay rooted to the moment while the other strained to soar free through the star-dressed space that lay beyond _.  I can't... I can't..._

The words were unspoken; he heard them anyway.  "You are mine to command, Michelle," he rumbled firmly against my temple.  "You will do as you're told."   When I moved to shake my head once more, his hand slid carefully around my throat, lifting my head back on my neck.  "This is your place, little one.  Your strength.  You serve me, and you serve me well.  Your will molds to mine, just as your body... _and I will accept nothing less._ "  His fingers slipped into my mouth, and I sucked at them desperately, as if I could draw his resolve into myself through his skin.  "Your strength, Michelle.  Because my desire is your desire.  Your supplication is my success, your surrender is my salvation.  And all simply because you choose to give it."  A tender kiss to my cheek, stark contrast to the wicked pounding of his cock into my depths.  "No stronger creature ever walked the Earth, my love, my brave, brilliant little sub.  Show me your strength.  Your control.  And do not fucking come until I say."

I managed to stutter out a hoarse, "I love you, Tom," before he claimed my mouth in a rough, searing kiss, abandoning all pretense and surging into me with animalistic urgency.  His rhythm hitched as mine smoothed, he lowered his head to rest it against my spine as I raised my own, stretching and lengthening my body to accept his eventual release.  He filled me utterly, his straining cock hitting spots inside me that sent colors without names exploding behind my eyelids as the hard ridge of his pelvis pushed the plug deeper and deeper.  And when he felt me melt beneath him, slack and pliable and waiting, his arms circled me tightly, crushing me to him as he mouthed at my shoulder.  "There you are, little one, there you are.  Finish it, love... let me feel it... _come for me_..."

His name left my lips on an airy sigh, my arms reaching back for him, not unlike a cliff diver vaulting out over some impossibly tall and rocky summit.  I drifted higher and higher on the wave of his climax, every frenetic spurt of heat pushing me further skyward before my own pleasure wrapped me in its own demanding embrace, sending me hurtling towards the warm and endless depths that surrounded me in beloved shades of blue and green and gold.

I floated in those kaleidoscope depths as long as I could before the silvery lilt of his voice in my ear caressed its way gently to the center of my brain.  He drew me to surface slowly, sweet pleas of  " _come back to me_ " my ever-present  lifeline to reality once more.  I swung my head drunkenly on my neck, meeting his kisses clumsily with my own until he chuckled softly into my mouth.  "Hold steady, sweet," he urged me quietly, "just a moment, all right?"  I nodded, clinging to the chair as he shifted, rising to his feet before drawing me into his arms once more. 

The bed was warm and welcoming as he ushered me into it, I whimpered in weak thanks as he slipped the plug carefully from inside me before stretching out next to me.  He drew the covers over us both, taking a moment to scrutinize my slowly refocusing eyes as I smiled sleepily up at him.  Finally, with a small and satisfied nod, he kissed the tip of my nose.  "How are you, my love?"

"So good, Sir," I snuggled into his chest with a yawn.  "So very, very good."

A brief hum of approval.  "You'll sleep soundly tonight."  It wasn't a question.  "And tomorrow..."  I gazed up at him raptly as he brushed a lock of hair from my forehead.  "You listen to me carefully."

"Yes, Sir?"

His finger held me beneath my chin. "Little one, you belong to me.  Your career?  Belongs to you.  You are the one who decides what happens now.  And I know... you're beyond ready."  He smoothed away the tears that spilled beneath his praise before sealing his lips over mine once more.  I opened to him easily, eagerly, breathing my love into him, swallowing the strength he offered in return.  I was already drifting when he reached to turn off the light.

Other people say goodnight.

Tom says, "Tell me, Michelle..."

And it's effortless to reply.

"I'm yours, Tom.  I'm yours."


	34. Chapter 34

"Michelle, how wonderful it is to see you this morning!"

August Van Houten was one of Doubleday’s Managing Directors, a portly man in his fifties with an unruly mop of salt and pepper waves and an infectious smile.  I tucked my hair over my shoulder as I uncrossed my legs, rising from my chair in the reception area to take his offered hand.  ”Gus,” I grinned as he shook my arm soundly before pulling me closer for a hug and a kiss to my cheek.  ”It’s good to see you, too.”

"I simply cannot tell you," he kept one arm around my shoulders as he ushered me down the bright hallway of frosted glass offices.  "How delighted we all were to hear you would not be accompanying Ms. Pollay in her new endeavors, that you wanted to stay with our little family here."

I bit back an amused snort at the idea of the powerhouse company I wrote for being called a “little” anything, hoping the flush in my cheeks read as girlishly flattered.  ”That’s so very kind of you to say.”  

"Well, please know that I speak for many.  Your work… so honest, so refreshing." The clipped, British pride behind his compliment made me wonder just exactly how much of my material he’d actually read; thankfully another, somewhat sexier British voice popped up in my head to remind me to mind my manners and keep my brilliant snark to myself.

"Thank you very much, Gus," I offered instead. "Your support… everyone’s support… it means so much."

"And I’ve heard just the sparest of rumblings about your newest work," his brow furrowed a bit behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "Very personal and powerful, I’m told."

I swallowed hard as the flush in my cheeks deepened, my fingers stroking absently over my collar.  ”Well,” I stammered a moment.  ”I certainly hope so.”

"All about the baby, yes?"  I nodded, allowing the man’s hand at my elbow to bring us to a stop in the center of the hall  "And how is the little chap these days?"

"Oh, he’s wonderful!"  I took the extended pause as cue to fumble my cellular from my purse.  "He’s crawling now," I beamed, holding out the device so he could scroll through my pictures.  "Always underfoot…"

"Handsome little fellow," Gus hummed in admiration.

My chest puffed in pride.  ”Looks just like his father.”

"Oh, yes," he handed my phone back with a wink. "But I see a shade or two of Mummy in that stubborn little chin."  He resumed his comfortable pace, until we arrived at the corner office at the end of the hall.  No etched glass with a c-shaped pull handle, this one offered the privacy of a handsome cherrywood door.  "Well, my dear," he gestured to the name plate screwed into the center. "This is where I leave you." He leaned a tad closer to murmur conspiratorially into my ear.  "I should tell you to call me if things…  falter."  I narrowed my eyes just a hint at the word.  "But… something tells me the two of you are going to get on quite famously."  Another smart peck to my cheek, and he turned crisply on his heel.

I watched his retreating back for a second or two before turning to fully face the door.  I took a moment to fluff my hair and straighten my dress.  Then, shifting my portfolio like a shield in front of me, I lifted my hand and knocked.  The muffled “come in” that drifted through the wood sounded benign enough, and I squared my shoulders before turning the knob.  ”Hello? Miss Richards?”

The door swung open on a warm and welcoming carved oak desk, neatly scattered with pens and scraps of paper and an open laptop. The woman rising from the chair behind it was just as welcoming, with large brown eyes and a smile of excitement I hadn’t expected.  ”Miss O’Shea - I mean, Mrs. Hiddleston…”  She flushed pink, and I waved my hand in a never-mind gesture with a shake of my head as she hurried over to greet me.

"Michelle," I smiled.  "Please."

"Okay, Michelle," she sighed, relieved. "Kristine.  Kristine Richards."

We shook hands easily.  ”It’s nice to meet you, Kristine.”

"Oh, thank you!  It’s so nice to meet you!"  She gestured to one of the leather chairs close by.  "Please, please sit down.  Can I get you anything?  Coffee, tea, water…"

I turned to close the door, opening my mouth to politely decline, but the words stuck in my throat and I blanched in surprised amusement.  Hanging on the back wall of the office, a full glossy marquee poster of my husband, bound in a leather lion’s head plackart, gloved and scowling away from the camera.  His own scrawling signature obscured the Donmar logo; a similarly signed program had been tucked carefully into the lower left corner of the frame.  I glanced over my shoulder at the owner, who was now as crimson as the blouse she wore above her black pencil skirt.  I exhaled a tiny laugh through my nose.  ”You saw it live?”

"Oh yes!"  She nodded enthusiastically.  "Twice!"  I laughed again and she cast her eyes skyward before covering her face briefly with her hand.  "And there I go, making this all terribly awkward."

"Eh, not terribly," I teased gently before sinking into the chair she’d indicated.  "I generally like most of Tom’s fans, so…"

"Oh!  Well… yes, I’m definitely one of Tom’s fans."  She rolled her eyes a bit, waving at the poster.  "Obviously, right?  But… I really want to tell you, Michelle," her eyes met mine, wide and open and clear.  "I’m quite a big fan of yours as well."

I might have expected the pleasantry, given the circumstances, but some intangible air of sincerity wrapped around the words, giving me cause to consider them more carefully than I might have.  I found myself a bit disarmed.  ”You are?”

Kristine nodded again, her expression shifting a bit, businesslike purpose glossed at the edges with just a touch of awestruck wonder.  ”I’d just finished uni when ‘A Pastiche Heart’ was published…”  She faltered a second, groping for words before simply shaking her head.  ”It very quickly became one of my favorite books.”  She offered a small and straightforward smile.  ”I love all your work… the essays… the articles.  But ‘Heart’?”  She gestured to the shelf at my right where, sure enough, the glossy purple dust jacket stood out among the other spines of brown and black.  ”I don’t think a week goes by where I don’t read at least a chapter or two.”

"Wow," I breathed softly.  "Thank you.  I… I don’t know what to say."

"Well," with an air of excited efficiency, she rounded her desk once more to take a seat in front of her laptop.  "Don’t say anything, then, but indulge me with a listen for a bit."  I nodded agreeably as she clicked over her keyboard.  "I received your email yesterday, and I was so thrilled to see the excerpts from the new book.  Frankly, I was a bit surprised when I heard Delia had finally worn you down and convinced you to write it…"

"You were?"  I interrupted before I could stop myself.  "Sorry…"

"Of course I was," Kristine laughed at me gently.  "Michelle… we all like our privacy."  She watched her words sink in for a moment before continuing.  "Don’t misunderstand - I agree that it’s a terribly compelling part of your story, and absolutely something worth sharing.  But I’m certain that doesn’t necessarily make it easier.  I mean," she paused to meet my eye.  "It’s your man… your boy…"

I might have expected to wither under her gaze, but something… some warm and supportive understanding made me sit straighter in my chair.  And for the first time, I really wanted to hear the answer when I asked, “So… what did you think?”

She removed her hands from her keyboard and folded them firmly in front of her.  ”I think I’m going to have a new favorite book.”

Two and a half hours later, we’d set aside her laptop for my own, crawling over text I’d thought I wouldn’t let see the light of day for weeks.  Kristine ate it up with a critical interest I hadn’t anticipated, easily complimenting what she appreciated while offering corrections and suggestions without hesitation or pretense.  I found myself furiously typing notes into my margins while she scribbled her own on a pad by her wrist.  It was only when my stomach grumbled noisily that either of us even bothered to look at the clock.  ”Oh no,” she blanched.  ”Michelle… I didn’t mean to keep you this long….”

I was actually disappointed by the thought of stopping.  ”No, no,” I waved my hand, blushing just a bit as I finished a quick note and clicked my mouse to save the document.  ”This was…”  I stammered for a moment.  ”This… I really…”  I met her wide, curious eyes and breathed a rueful little laugh.  ”I hate to leave.”

"You do?"  Her face lit up, her tone sweetly flattered.

I nodded.  ”I really do.  Miss Richards… Kristine… this has been so extremely helpful.  I can’t tell you…”  I offered her my hand.  ”I’m really excited to work with you.”

"Oh… Michelle," she accepted, shaking it gently.  "I… thank you.  Thank you… the feeling is… so, so mutual."

I grinned as I rose to slip my computer back into my satchel.  ”And please, apologize to your next appointment for my hogging your time.”

"Oh," she waved a hand dismissively.  "I don’t have any more face-to-faces today. It’s all about the page for the rest of this afternoon, I’m afraid."

All at once, I was certain she was as reluctant to end our parlay as I was.   I offered her a mischievously indulgent grin.  ”Have you ever been to Counter?”

Twenty minutes later, the two of us were seated at a small table at the brassiere at Vauxhall Arches, sipping decadent coffee while we waited for our lunch.  Kristine told me a little about herself - growing up in Cambridge, studying literature at the University of Manchester, her love for libraries and reading and books in general.  ”Have you ever considered trying your own hand at writing?”

Her blush and downcast eyes told me as much as her quietly muttered reply.  ”Oh… maybe someday…”

Conversation moved on to Tom, of course, and Jack; a few drops of her espresso dotted the linen tablecloth when her hand trembled at my suggestion that at least one editing session take place at the house, perhaps with dinner and a drink or two.  We were halfway through our burgers when she took a calculated breath. “So… have you given any thought to what comes after?”

I finished chewing my mouthful, wiping my lips with my napkin.  ”After what?  This book?”  She nodded, taking a sip from her water glass.  ”A little,” I admitted.  ”You know, Jack’s getting bigger every day, Tom and I are learning how to be parents without losing ourselves too much…”  I swallowed hard as I considered our most recent identity struggle, and took  a drink of my own.  ”In other words,” I smiled.  ”There’s plenty of material, I guess.”  I watched her chew thoughtfully for a moment.  ’What?”

She swallowed, then took a deep breath. “What would you say,” she fiddled nervously with her fork, not quite able to meet my eye.  ”If I suggested… maybe you should put your memoir style on the shelf for a while?”

I looked at her blankly.  ”What do you mean?”

Another deep, shuddering breath, another spin of the silverware against her plate.  ”Michelle, your writing… it’s absolutely brilliant.”  She finally lifted her gaze to mine.  ”Your voice… it’s changed so since your first chapters, found a depth and a nuance that is… really quite enviable.” She smiled as I flushed. “And the story you’re telling…it’s real and true… and even though I know this project started under a bit of duress, it doesn’t read that way at all.  You tell it with such heart, such enthusiasm.”  She sighed.  ”People who loved ‘A Pastiche Heart’ are going to swoon over this.  And you’re going to find an entire world of new fans with this, I simply know it.”

"Okay," I chuckled a little.  "So… if it ain’t broke…?"

Her expression softened, her voice lowered. “How much longer can you keep this up, though, do you think?”

"Keep what up?  Writing?"  I leaned forward on my elbows a bit.

Kristine sighed.  ”Writing your life.  In this manner… in this detail.”

I scoffed mildly, taking another swallow of my coffee.  ”Don’t they always say you shoud write what you know?”

"Oh yes," Kristine nodded.  "But you know, Michelle, there are other ways to tell your stories.  Ways to share your thoughts and feelings, to teach the lessons you’ve learned, to help others see the world through your eyes."  She paused briefly.  "Ways to close your own door on the intimacy of your own life without making your readers feel like you’ve shut them out."

"Hey," I smiled broadly.  "I’m all for that!"

"Really?" Her face light up like a summer sky. "You are?"

"Sure," I shrugged.

"Oh, Michelle," she bounced a little in her chair.  "That’s so wonderful!  You’re going to be an amazing novelist, I’m so certain of it…"

The word stopped me cold.  ”Wait… what?”

She took pause at my change in expression. “What?”

"I’m sorry," I shook my head a little. "Novelist?"  I thought for a moment, then shook my head some more. "No.  No, sorry, Kristine.  That’s… making stories up?  No. That’s not me.  That’s never been me."

I watched her posture shift, the professional air that had ebbed as we’d talked creeping back into the set of her jaw, the square of her shoulders.  ”I know you’ve never published anything fictional before…”

"Kristine," I lay a hand gently on hers.  "I haven’t published anything like that because I’ve never written anything like that."

She narrowed her eyes at me curiously. “Have you ever tried?”

"Not since creative writing classes at Chapel Hill," I snorted.  "Which, in itself, should tell you something."

"It does," she smiled gently.  "It tells me it’s time to try again." She watched me with warm regard as I took another shaky sip from my mug.  "Listen, Michelle, we don’t have to make any hard and fast plan today.  You’re what… halfway through the new book? And about to head stateside for a summer holiday?  Let’s maybe focus on that, shall we, and return to this when you’re closer to finishing."  She could see from the furrow in my brow that I was not nearly as prepared to take tabling the subject as lightly as she’d hoped.  "I can see I’ve thrown you," she lifted her chin a bit. "I can’t stress this enough, Michelle: I work for you.  I’m here to support your work, to help shape your voice to what makes you the happiest, the most satisfied.  If you want to continue the way you’ve come, we will work with that.  It’s just…"  Her cheeks flooded with sudden color, and though she leaned closer, her eyes remained glued on the utensil in her hand.  "I can see you’re wearing thin.  I would just hate to see you wear through entirely." She swallowed hard before forcing herself to meet my eye once more.  "So… a change?  Maybe?"

Dowager, Vixen, for once in unison.   _No. No.  Absolutely not._

Tom. … _perhaps.._.

I took another swallow of coffee.  

"I’ll think about it.


	35. Chapter 35

Thinking was all I did the entire drive home.  The air in the Jag was already nice and cool when the valet eased it to the curb for me to slip into after shaking Kristine's hand and sending her back into the Doubleday offices with the promise of a phone call later on in the week.  As I eased the car over the bridge, away from the city and towards home, all I could do was turn the idea over and over in my head...

_Novelist?_

I couldn't remember the last time I'd written anything that wasn't explicitly factual.  Even the editorial-style opinion pieces I'd published, my articles and essays, were woven tightly around extensive and thorough research.  Using my imagination, being liberally creative to fill the page... it seemed as foreign a concept to me as having fans clamor to read those efforts.  I wasn't certain I could do it for a chapter, let alone a full novel... certainly not a career.  Names floated through my brain - Twain, Austen, Lee, Steinbeck, Walker, Alcott - and I actually cringed in my seat, gripping the steering wheel. 

_Now, hang on, love...  I hardly think that's the kind of work anyone is expecting you to produce.  At least, not at first._

Tom's voice, of course.

"Well, that's a good thing," I replied aloud.  "I'm not even sure I could rise to the level of a title of the week, let alone anything more prolific."  And the more I thought about it, the more I realized: the cornerstone of my career had always been my honesty.  Every positive review, every offered praise highlighted that fact with words like "openness", "candor", "sincerity".  I couldn't help but wonder what it would say about me if I abandoned all of that now  just to see if I could continue to turn a profit.  By the time I eased the car into the driveway, my stomach was little more than churning nervous knots.  With a sigh, I collected my satchel and purse and pushed myself out from behind the wheel and towards the front door.

Tom was stretched out on the sofa when I closed and locked it behind me, his own laptop propped open on his thighs.  "My love," he smiled warmly, glancing at his watch.  "I was beginning to wonder what was keeping you."

I dropped my things on the doorside table before crossing to him, leaning over to kiss his open and waiting mouth.  "I'm sorry, Sir, did you not get my text?"

"I did," he tugged gently on a lock of my hair with a cocked eyebrow.  "Must have been one interesting lunch..."

"Oh, you have no idea," I giggled, and as he closed the computer and sat straighter against the arm of the couch, I propped one leg on the back of it to support my weight. 

"Well, tell me, then," he grinned, one fingertip teasing the hem of my skirt up over my knee.  "Kristine Richards..?"

I couldn't help it; I smiled.  "I like her."

"Oh, darling," he inclined his head to press a kiss to the top of my thigh.  "That is fantastic!"  I smiled, running my hand through his curls as he nuzzled me affectionately.  "Reservations all sorted out then?"

"About her?"  He nodded, and I stroked my palm along his scruffy jaw.  "Oh, yes.  She's wonderful.  She's smart, she's sharp, she's enthusiastic.  She says she's a fan of my work, and I guess I believe her... she seems to know it well."

"Good!"

"And she was very complimentary about the new chapters as well... laughed, got a little teary, had some great suggestions about how to frame the... more difficult passages..."

"Wait," Tom placed a warm, firm hand on my knee.  "You showed her the new chapters?  Already?"  I nodded, and he clicked his tongue, impressed.  "Wow.  She really must be something."

"Well, you should know," I ducked my head to nip at the tip of his nose.  "I mean, you have met her before, after all."

His expression clouded a bit.  "I have?"

"Mmm-hmm," I nodded, my voice a teasing lilt.  "Twice."  I couldn't help but laugh as I watched him fruitlessly scan his memory.  "She's got a great big _Coriolanus_ poster and program framed on her office wall," I smirked.  "You signed them both."

"Oh, well, she does have excellent taste," he beamed, slipping his hand up under my skirt and tracing the line where stocking met skin on my thigh.  "Oh, sweetheart," he stroked gently at the goosebumps his touch set in flight.  "I am so happy for you.  So glad they found someone who shares your vision about your writing, your direction.  I'm sure she was thrilled to see the new work, but tell me, did you discuss at all any future projects?"

I swallowed hard, feeling the knots that had just begun to loosen in my gut pull tight once again.  "We did... a little..."

"Excellent!  I'd love to hear!"

His wide blue eyes and open, excited expression only made my insides churn harder, and I swallowed hard as he read the sudden anxiety I was trying so hard to hide.  "Little one?"  His hand gripped my thigh just a bit tighter.  "Is something wrong?"

_Please, Tom... I don't want to talk about this now._

"Michelle?"  He swung his legs to the floor, sitting fully upright.  "What is it?"

I sighed heavily.  "Well," I rose to my own feet, stepping just beyond the reach of his hand.  "I guess you're going to find out eventually."

He squared his shoulders, his eyes narrowing.  "What?"

Biting my lower lip, it suddenly occurred to me that a small improvisation I'd made when dressing that morning could now work to my advantage in more ways than one.  I backed away a step, then another, smiling coyly.  "Well...  I know you said... and they are really pretty… but I've had a surprise for you... I was just waiting for the right moment and... well..."  Finally, I spun on my heels, and once my back was to him, I lifted my skirt.  I'd abandoned the elegant silk panties he'd selected for me, choosing instead to slip into the ones I flashed him now - purple satin emblazoned across the rump in black: " _It ain't gonna spank itself_."  I watched over my shoulder as his eyes blew wide, then narrowed once more, predatory, and his low growl spurred me into motion with a tiny squeak.  I bolted up the stairs, shivering at the muted thunder of his footfalls behind me.

He caught me just outside Jack's room, one arm snaking around my waist as the opposite hand caught my mouth to muffle my yelp.  "You hush now, little bird," he purred into my neck.  "Our boy is sleeping soundly... no need to disturb him simply because you're in the mood to misbehave today."  He hauled me up against him, dragging me unceremoniously into our bedroom and pushing the door closed behind us with his heel.  "Now," he sighed in mock exasperation as he bent me over the foot of the mattress.  "Let's have a better look at this little surprise of mine, shall we?"

I quivered in delight as one strong hand held me down between my shoulder blades, the other sliding up the inside of my thigh, pushing my skirt up to the small of my back.  "These..." He smoothed his large, warm palm over the curves of my ass.  "Are lovely, that's certain.  But they are definitely not the ones I selected for you.  And the sentiment?"  I could feel his fingertip tracing the letters with a slow, firm touch as he leaned over to put his mouth close to my ear.  "You know the saying goes... 'be careful what you wish for'..."  His teeth closed on the delicate cartilage, tugging firmly.  "You want to top from bottom?"  He landed one sharp smack to my ass.  "Let's hope this luscious little bottom of yours can take it."   My body cooled as he straightened, taking his heat with him as he stood back, arms crossed casually over his chest.  "Stand up, cheeky girl, turn and face me."

I obeyed, resisting the urges to push my dress down and straighten my tousled hair.  He was in full on Dom mode, and I knew any move or sound I made that was not specifically asked for would only incite him to become more and more creative with my punishment.  And while I was certain my ass would be singing grand opera before long (was looking forward to it, actually), I was hoping our session would end in a nice, deep fuck as well, one where I would be allowed to come with him as he filled me.  Pushing any more buttons would almost surely inspire him to leave me wet and wanting, and with no idea when he would finally grant me the relief of release. 

I could see the thoughts swirling through my mind reflected in his handsome features.  "Right little brat, you are," he mused to himself.  "No trouble asking for what you want now..."  He shook his head, taking a moment to palm a handful of denim and swelling cock between his legs.  "Off with that dress, before I decide to fetch the shears and leave a permanent hole in your wardrobe."  My mouth fell open to object, until I saw his eyes light up in triumph; I snapped it back closed so quickly I very nearly caught my tongue viciously between my teeth.  "Aha, she's learning," he chuckled as I reached behind me to yank the zipper down and shrug my way out of the linen before draping it carefully over the footboard.  "Bra next, darling, be quick..."

He was upon me once again as soon as I'd slid the satin straps down my shoulders, taking the lingerie from my hands before spinning me about.  Pinning my wrists behind me, he used it as a makeshift ligature, binding them just enough to render them useless.  "Now," his growl was warm honey as his hand in my hair pulled my head back on my neck.  "I'm a bit too close to see, darling."  He punctuated his statement with a lusty grind of his hips against my ass.  "What is it those lovely panties of yours say?"

I swallowed hard, looking up at him from the awkward angle I'd come to love.  "'It ain't gonna spank itself', Sir."

"I'm sorry," he leaned over to nip at my bottom lip.  "Once more?"

I whimpered deliciously.  "'It ain't gonna spank itself''."

"Mmmm," he slid his hands around to cup my breasts, his long fingers pianoing my nipples to hard points to pluck and twist.  "I guess the honor falls to me, then."  He dragged me swiftly to his side of the bed, sinking down and draping me over his lap as easily as he might his dinner napkin.  His legs caught mine, holding me in place, hanging at his mercy over his knees.  He brushed the curtain of my hair over my neck and shoulder, leaving me exposed and excited beneath his gaze.  "I'm sure you remember your word, love?"

I nodded, biting my lip in anticipation.  "Iris, Sir."

The words were barely out of my mouth when his palm connected soundly with my right buttock, making me jump and cry out, as much in surprise as pain.  "Something wrong, darling?" His voice was warm and calm, infuriatingly controlled as he delivered a matching blow to the left. 

“N-n-no, Sir,” I gasped, making every effort not to squirm against his thighs.  “You just… surprised me.  That’s all.”

“Surprised you?”   His tone was mischief and mirth as he landed another blow to the swell of my hip.  “Isn’t this exactly what those pretty little panties are asking for?”  Another smack, then another.  “A nice, thorough spanking?”  The cool slickness of the fabric muted the warmth of his palm, somehow making those first blows bite and sting with a sharpness I hadn’t felt in a while.  It was agony and ecstasy and I squeezed my eyes shut as he slipped his finger under the thin strip of satin between my legs, tugging the saturated material tight against my swelling folds.  “Ohhh, yes,” he purred in delight.  “This is exactly what my naughty little girl wants, what my sweet little cunt is weeping for.”  He nudged at my slit playfully with the tip of his finger.  “Isn’t that right, sweet?”

I bit my lip, feeling the first sting of gratefully embarrassed tears burning behind my lids.  “Yes, Tom.”  I answered, my voice tremulous.  “Please… don’t stop, Sir…”

“Oh, sweet love,” he rubbed a tender hand over the curve of my spine, stroked gently over my hair.  “I’ve no intention of stopping.”  He spanked me again, flush on my right cheek.  “None whatsoever.”  A resounding smack to the left.  “Not until this gorgeous ass is red…” _Crack!_ “Throbbing.”  _Crack!_ “And so covered in my handprints there will be positively no question that you belong to me.” 

Another half-dozen swats and I was shaking in my skin, the first reflexive tears spilling from my lashes.  He paused for a long moment, smoothing his hands over the curving landscape.  “So hot,” he murmured, leaning over to dust soft kisses along the nape of my neck.  “Even through the material I can feel the heat of you.”  I felt his fingers slip under the elastic, and hissed softly through my teeth as he eased the panties down to my knees.  “You’re never so beautiful as when you’re marked as mine, Michelle.”

“Th-thank you, Sir,” I sniffled softly.  “I love you.”

“Oh, little one, I love you, too.”  He rubbed his hands over me once more, massaging the globes of my ass with his long, strong fingers.  “Are you ready for more, love?  For the sting of my skin against yours?”

My shoulders shook a little as I sobbed quiet gratitude into his leg.  “Yes, please, Tom.  Please… spank me.”

The last push is always the hardest.  Tom knows me well; even in our play, there is always purpose.  His fingers found mine, white-knuckled around each other at the base of my spine; I caught them and held fast.  Brutally beautiful and sweetly savage, he rained blow after blow down on me until I’d lost count of them all, until my quivering and quaking had given way to limp surrender, until the stress and the strain and the worry and the tension poured down my cheeks like a summer rain.  And as I drifted up above the storm clouds to that warm and sunny spot that bathed my body in golden light, he unbound my wrists and turned me in his embrace, winding my arms around his neck as he pulled me close, rocking me until the tears were gone and my lashes rested dry against my cheeks, my lips curled in a small feline smile of satisfaction.

He moved me easily to the center of the bed, propping my head up for sips of water before guiding my hands to the rung of the headboard directly above me.  “Honor bound, my love,” he spoke the words into my mouth, teasing the tip of his tongue between my lips.  “Don’t fucking let go.”

I whimpered quietly, squirming against the bed where the buttery soft comforter felt like sandpaper against my burning backside.  “Sir… please…”

“Michelle,” his voice was fluid and firm.  “I gave you instructions.  If you truly need me to bind you in order to obey, I will oblige.  But…”  He caught my pouty lower lip between his teeth and tugged.  “Once you’re trussed up nice and tight,” his hands caressed their way to my breasts.  “I’ll sink my cock into the tight, wet heat of you.”  He pinched and twisted at my nipples, licking at the gasps that escaped my slack and gaping mouth.  “I’ll fuck my tight little cunt to my pleasure, not yours.  I’ll leave your bare little clit swollen and begging, I’ll leave that sweet spot inside you criminally untouched.  I’ll fuck you in all the ways that leave you raw and wriggling and begging for more.  And then, just as you’re certain you can’t hold back another heartbeat, I’ll pull my cock out of you and stroke myself in front of your wide little eyes until I spill all over these gorgeous breasts.”  His hands groped me tighter, his thumbs nudging over the hard points of my nipples.  “So… honor bound?”

His grin belied more than a little self-satisfaction, but the warmth in his eyes, the twitch of his jaw that seemed a nod of encouragement; I could almost hear the words behind his lips… _Rise, little one… you can do it… we both know you can…_

I tightened my grip on the smooth wooden dowel and lifted my chin.  “Honor bound, Sir.”

“My good girl…”

One lingering kiss, deep and demanding, and he was sitting up above me, kneeling in the sprawl of my legs.  He dragged his t-shirt over his head and tossed it aside before opening his fly, smirking at the way I stared at the causal grace of his fingers, licked my lips for his swollen and leaking cock as he bared it to my sight.  He gripped his shaft snugly with one hand while using the other to spread me open; I mewled helplessly as he allowed glistening beads of his precum to drip lazily onto my exposed clit.  “Such a good girl when you get what you need,” he hummed, stroking his head up and down my slit.  He sighed in satisfaction as my body pushed more and more nectar out over his smooth and sensitive skin, imploring him to come closer, to sink deeper, to replace the empty ache with the biting burn that always chewed its way to my core when he filled me.  “Lift your hips, sweet,” he urged.  “Let me in.”

Bracing my shoulders against the mattress, I did as I was told, planting my feet and pushing up to meet him.  He took his time, sliding inch by hot, throbbing inch into me with calculated control.  He didn’t touch me with his hands, didn’t offer his body for balance or leverage, and so my every muscle was trembling with effort when he finally pressed his pubic bone to mine, his head falling back on his neck as he savored the sensation of me fluttering around him.  He held us there, immobile, for what seemed an eternity while I tore air in and out of my lungs, fought every urge to buck and grind against him, and gripped the wooden column in my hands until my fingers were all but numb.  Finally, his large hands spanned my hips and his eyes opened, the burning blue of his gaze licking at my skin as he nudged against that spot inside me that sent stars exploding across my vision.  “Is this what you want, little one?”

“Yes, Tom, yes,” I nodded desperately.

Another sharp cant of his hips, the responding twinge behind my navel making me gasp and whimper.  “Is this what you need?”

“Yes, Sir!”  The tears had come again; I blinked them unashamed down my cheeks.  “So much… God, so much… please…”

An almost imperceptible shudder vibrated through his body, and he exhaled audibly.  “That’s it, my girl,” he murmured, licking his lips.  “Beg.”

The elation that rose in my chest nearly burst forth in a peal of grateful laughter; it took a mighty effort to release it instead as choked and desperate sob.  “Please, Tom… please.  I want you… I need you.  Please move inside me, please.  I need to feel you fucking me, Sir, please…”

My vision nearly whited out when at last he relented, pulling almost his full length from inside me, only to slam home again in one fluid stroke.  His groan of delight drowned out my breathy whine, and I bit down on my lip when I felt his grip on me tighten.  The rolls of his body were slow and smooth, gliding every ridge and vein of him over and against every sensitive spot inside me, making me throb and clench and flood wet, welcoming gratitude around him.   Golden and Godlike he moved above me, his hands catching me behind my knees to spread me wide, bend me back, open me up to his pleasure.  He would ride me hard for long minutes, pressing so deep it felt I had no room in my body for even the breath in my chest.  Then he would slide from me to grind his steel-solid heat against my labia and clit, filling the room with the sounds of slick, slippery flesh on flesh. 

“My precious little one,” he chuckled, leaning over to catch a hard, bouncing nipple between his lips before impaling me once more.  “What a tight and wet little treat you are today.”  He pumped his hips quickly, four, five times, before slowing to long, slow undulations once more.  “I could just use this sweet cunt to my delight for hours, couldn’t I?”

I nodded, fighting the desperate need to grab his silky curls and drag his mouth down to mine.  “Yes… yes, Sir.”

“Yes,” he repeated before sucking hard on my nipple once more.  “Slow and deep, hard and fast,” he nipped at the sideswell of my breast.  “Whatever I wish, however I wish…”

“Yes, Tom, yes, Sir,” I whipped my head from side to side against my pillow in a vain attempt to clear it.  “Whatever you want…”

He shifted his angle of penetration, grinding the head of his cock directly against my g-spot, moaning long and low to make certain I knew just how much he was enjoying himself.  “And you won’t come at all, will you?”  He teased.  “Not until I say, not _unless_ I say.”  He chuckled into my cleavage as I whinged pitifully beneath him.  “Will you?”

The hard edge in his voice demanded an answer, and I sobbed just a little.  “N-n-no, Sir…”

He bit down on my other nipple, making my eyes fly open and forcing a barking squeak from my throat.  “No, Sir, what?”

_You fucking glorious bastard… I hate you… I love you… I love you so much…_

“I won’t come, Sir!”  I cried out.  “I won’t come until you say…”  My whimper trailed off until he bit down again, harder, tugging at the bud in his mouth.  “Unless you say,” I finished in thankful misery.  “I won’t come until you say… unless you say… I won’t, Tom… I won’t…”

“Fucking Christ, little one, what a perfect little fucktoy you are…”

With that, he wrapped my legs around his waist, slipping his hands underneath me.  I gasped in agonized arousal as he grabbed the punished swells of my ass, using his grip to tilt my pelvis to his liking.  Over and over he rolled, pummeling into me, his hands pulling me sharply into the apex of every thrust until I was little more than a quaking, babbling, begging mess before him.  Finally, his perspiration dripping down on me in a baptismal rain, his eyes locked on mine.  “Do you want to come, Michelle?”

I nodded with all the strength I had left.  “Y-y-ye-es, Tom,” I sniffled piteously.  “Please, Sir?  Please?  May I come for you?”

Like a shot, his hands released my body and grabbed at my neck.  “Let go,” he snarled with a tick of his chin towards my hands, and when I obeyed, he pulled me up off the mattress, my body bent in a deliciously awkward vee.  My bruised buttocks rubbed against the linens, tiny sips of needle-fine pain pricks dancing up my spine.   “You listen to me very carefully, little bird,” he wrapped his other hand around my throat to support my chin.  “I’m going to come inside you, and you?  You are going to watch.”

Arousal piqued, I nodded with renewed energy.  “Yes, Tom.”

“You’re going to watch this snug little pussy drain my cock dry.  And then, when I’m dripping out of you, all warm and wet and sticky, only then are you allowed to come.”  He raised that infernal right eyebrow, the one I was certain would one day be the end of me.  “And only if you gush all over me.”

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded frantically.  No doubt in my mind; he was my Maestro, I was his instrument.  Whatever symphonies he demanded… _adagio…moderato… allegretto… vivacissimo…_ each and every cell of me was his to conduct. 

I made myself slack, pliant, watching his eyes dilate that extra measure as the last tiny threads of control over my body shifted from my grasp to his.  “Oh, fuck yes,” He muttered, moving both hands to the back of my head to hold my posture as he wanted it, to keep my gaze locked on that spot where our bodies connected.  “Oh, fuck, Michelle… that’s it… that’s it… oh fucking Christ, I’m gonna come…”  His voice hitched, throaty, hungry, desperate, words dissolving into inarticulate staccato grunts as he thrust harder, faster.  And then he pulled back until barely more than his crown was inside me, breathing hard as we both watched the flesh and muscle surge and spasm and surge again, pumping thick, hot spurts of his seed into my waiting depths.

“Yes, Tom, yes,” I affirmed, encouraged, pleaded.  “Come inside me, Sir, please… oh, God, yes… please…”  His body arched, and I knew his head had fallen back on his neck in throes of ecstasy, but I did as I’d been instructed.  I kept my eyes glued to his cock, now slightly waning, moaning softly as the first milky white trickles of his release began to drip down his shaft from my flushed and swollen folds.  The sound brought him back, and one hand released my hair, sliding down between us.  His thumb and forefinger found my slick, straining clit, and I bucked into his touch as he began to play. 

“That’s it, sweet…”  Still erect enough to push back inside me, he worked my sex with masterful precision, pressure and friction, everything hot and hard and wet and demanding.  He heard my plaintive snivel, saw the furrow in my brow and the tiny spot of blood on my lip as my own release swelled and leveled, coiling and uncoiling, elusive and infuriatingly stubborn.  “Oh, yes you will, Michelle, do you hear me?”  He leaned close to put his mouth next to my ear, his voice dark and deadly calm.  “You will come for me, do you understand?  You will come for me, you will gush for me, you will fucking saturate me, just as I told you you would…”

“Yes, Tom,” I nodded frantically, staring at his fingers working my clit, his cock still nudging insistently at my entrance.  “Yes, Sir… I’m trying, Sir… I’m trying… oh, God…”  Desperate for something, anything to break the stalemate inside me, I shifted my weight, rubbing and pressing my sore and tender buttocks to the bed beneath me.  “Yes, Sir… yes, Sir… yes, Sir… I will, Sir… Oh God, Tom… oh _GOD_ …!” 

My body convulsed violently as the wave of sensation finally crested and crashed in the span of a single heartbeat.  Tom’s arm held fast around my neck, his fingers tugging at the back of my collar as he growled in triumph.  “Oh fuck, yes!  There you are, little one… there you are.”  His fingers released my clit to push roughly up into me, finding and working the pressure points he knew so well as the orgasm he’d demanded splashed out over his hand, his wrist and arm, flooded over his pelvis and thighs and the bed beneath us.

And me?  All I could do was scream soundlessly to the ceiling as the momentum built pushed me up once more, into the nebulous dimension he brought me to time and time again, where I floated glowing without light, warm without heat, my spirit soaring peacefully above while he cradled my limp and spent body safely below. 

I came back to myself stretched out on my stomach, his long strong fingers massaging aloe into my raw and aching cheeks.  My belt and stockings were gone, the saturated comforter had been stripped from the bed, and I was nude save for the fresh, warm fleece that covered me from neck to waist.  When I opened my eyes, I smiled sleepily at the sight of the bottles of water and ibuprofen on his nightstand.  His thumb found a particularly sensitive bruise and I gave a low purr, wriggling a little beneath his touch.  “There you are, little one,” he dipped his head to press a sweet kiss to my lips.  “How are you feeling?”

“Mmmm,” I rolled my shoulders against the mattress before pushing myself slowly up onto my elbows.  “Luxurious.”  He helped snag the items from the night table before returning to his ministrations, finishing my rubdown as I downed a couple of pills with a few long swallows of the cold, clear liquid. 

“Thank you,” he smiled when I offered it to him, nearly spilling it with a chortle as I wrapped the blanket around me and scooted into his lap.  After a few sips of his own, he moved to prop his back against the center of the headboard, carrying me along with him as I snuggled against his chest.  Once we were settled, he looked down at me, exhaling a small laugh and shaking his head at my sleepy smile of satisfaction.  “Spoiled brat,” he mused softly before catching my lips in a gentle kiss.  “Don’t think you’ve fooled me for a second.”  I blanched nervously until I felt his hand rubbing soothingly up and down my back.  “Don’t panic,” he kissed me once more.  “You’re obviously struggling with something, something with your writing, and not quite ready to speak about it yet.”  I turtled into myself, caught, until he took my chin between his thumb and forefinger.  “Michelle…”

I sighed, raising my head as he expected, leaning into the comforting warmth of his palm when he lifted it to caress my cheek.  “You’re right, Sir,” I admitted.  “Kristine’s ideas…I just…”  I shook my head briefly before burrowing into his neck.

“Oh, my love,” he rocked me gently in his arms.  “They can’t be all bad.  I could see in your eyes…could tell from the length of time you spent with her this morning,” he tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear.  “You like her.  There’s a way to make it work.”

I searched the calm and loving ocean of his eyes.  “You’re sure?”

“As nearly as I can be,” he looked down his nose at me, just a touch of stern expectation creeping into his tone.  “Given that I’ve not been told yet exactly what we’re talking about.”  I drew in a deep breath and exhaled it in a long, shuddering sigh.  But just as I was opening my mouth to explain, a loud rustling echoed from the monitor, followed by a plaintive wail of hunger.  “Oh, you lucky little shit,” Tom scoffed as I blinked and shrugged innocently up at him.  He shook his head, rolling his eyes.  “Would you like to nurse?”  I nodded happily.  “All right, then,” he held me close a moment longer, indulging us both with a long, slow kiss before sliding out of bed and into his jeans. 

I was tucked into a lovely nest of pillows when he returned with Jack, who waved Squeaker at me from one webbed foot as he gnawed impatiently  at his fingers.  “Hey there, Sprout,” I took him gladly and lay him across my lap, wincing ever so slightly as we settled into his toothy latch.  Tom watched vigilantly until he could see us both relax, could hear the baby’s rhythmic swallows and tiny sighing breaths.  He straightened then, finished buckling his belt and pulled his t-shirt back over his head.  “Michelle?”

His voice was sweet but serious, and I sat straighter when I met his eye to let him know I was listening.  “Yes, Sir?”

“Take some time.  Gather your thoughts.  But please don’t make me wait, darling.  If there’s a problem…” I could see a brief flash of naked worry in his eyes and I swallowed hard, quickly shaking my head.

“I won’t, Tom, I won’t.  Tonight, over dinner.  I promise.”

His smile lit up his entire face and he leaned over to kiss the curly crown of our son’s head.  “Be gentle with your mummy, Jack-Jack,” he murmured before rising to taste my lips once more as well.  I nuzzled against him,drawing in the words he sighed, the breath we shared.  “Tell me, my love…”

“I’m yours, Tom… Forever yours.”


	36. Chapter 36

“Open your eyes, little one…”

I sighed against the lips nibbling softly at my own, inhaling the warm scent of citrus and cedarwood, of mint and magnolia.  I blinked slowly once, twice, my vision slowly swimming into focus as Tom whispered into my mouth.  “We’re here, love…”

I was still buckled into the front seat of the Forester we’d rented at the airport for the drive to Hope Valley, Tom leaning through the open passenger door to gently rouse me from my nap.  “We are here,” I stretched sleepily, smiling at the sight of the house I’d grown up in, just beyond the vehicle’s windshield.  I twisted in my seat; Tom chuckled into the sensitive skin of my neck. 

“The boy is inside,” he murmured softly.  “Fast asleep and dreaming.  The bags are not inside, but they can wait.”  He stepped back to allow the fingers of the fragrant evening breeze to caress my cheeks and forehead, and it was then that I noticed the soft and well-worn quilted comforter that had covered my bed for years draped over his arm.  I raised an eyebrow at it, and he nodded in impish satisfaction.  “It’s just past midnight.  The sky is full of stars and there’s a perfect silver sickle moon overhead.”  He held out his hand.  “Join me, my love.  Please.”

I shivered a bit as I unbuckled my seatbelt, slipping my fingers into his palm so he could help me from the car.  Once the door was closed and locked, he wrapped an arm around me, tucking me beneath his shoulder and ushering me towards the ivy covered gate.  “Happy to be here, darling?”

I wrapped my own arms around his waist, snuggling gratefully into his solid heat.  “So happy, Tom,” I tilted my chin to look up at him in reverence.  “Thank you.”

We hadn’t originally planned to be stateside so soon.  Tom had set up a few meetings with Luke and Michael to redefine the parameters of his work, wanting to make good on his promise to be closer to home until Jack was a little older.  We’d also been planning to spend a little time with his family before crossing the ocean for the summer.  Travel plans had been the furthest thing from our minds that evening after my meeting with Kristine, when we’d settled at the dinner table to discuss the career curveball she’d lobbed my direction.  Tom had listened carefully, with a compassionate ear, chewing thoughtfully as I pushed my own food about with my fork.  Once I’d finished my soliloquy, he took a sip from his wine glass, tapping my plate in wordless instruction.  “So,” he wiped his mouth with his napkin.  “Fiction writing?”

And so the conversation went, my babbled apprehension punctuated with swallowed mouthfuls.  He filled my glass when I drained it dry, pressed a firm but loving hand to calm my knee that bounced incessantly beneath the table, asked gentle questions, and didn’t balk when many of them were answered only by my blank and bothered stare.  I prattled fretfully as we cleaned the kitchen, offered excuse after excuse as Jack splashed and crowed his way through his bath, and finally surrendered the boy to his father for a bottle when my animated anxiety frustrated his efforts to nurse himself to sleep. 

Even once the baby was tucked in, I was still gibbering away around my dental floss as we stood in the bathroom, both stripped to our underwear as we prepared for bed.  Tom was bent over the sink brushing his teeth, his concerned blue stare leveled on my face as my ponytail flipped from shoulder to shoulder, as more and more worry tumbled from my lips like rain.  He rinsed his mouth, his brow furrowed as he watched me continue to wind myself up like a child’s toy top.  A tick of the clock later and his hand was in my hair, forcing me to my knees.  The strand of floss was still between my molars when I saw his fist dip below his waistband; I barely had time to snatch it away before he was shoving his half-hard cock into my mouth.  I stared up at him, feeling my wide blown eyes begin to dry, but his expression was beautifully kind, calm and comforting. 

“Suck,” he commanded, quiet but unyielding. 

He waited just long enough to feel my jaw go slack and pliant before he began to thrust, swelling in my mouth as I hollowed my cheeks around him, fluttered my tongue against him.  “Lovely,” he murmured softly, pulling back slowly, stopping when the tender spot beneath his crown came to rest between my lips, and I shuddered as his fluids began to drip across my palate.  Nervous energy forced me to lean forward in an attempt to draw him deep once more, a hundred thoughts of _suck_ and _lick_ and _taste_ and _swallow_ racing through my mind, but a sharp tug to my ponytail brought my hazy view almost immediately back into laser-fine focus.

“Michelle,” he intoned in his perfectly calm, cool manner.  “Stop thinking and give me your mouth.”

His voice - fingers on the volume knob in my brain.  The nerve-wracking chatter faded slowly until there was only the sound of his deep, controlled breaths and my own pounding heart.  Instinct, conditioning, muscle memory; my hands linked at the small of my back, my arching posture accommodating both the angle of his penetration and the impishly interested slant of his gaze.  I rose up slightly on my knees, covered my teeth with my lips, and moaned against him in grateful entreaty.

“There’s my good girl…”

He knew exactly what I needed; he always does.  One hand in my hair, the other wrapped comfortingly around my throat.  The rolls of his hips were firm and flowing as he took me, used me, fucking my mouth as easily as he would have my cunt.  He pushed deep, deeper, edging me to the threshold of choking before pulling back, offering just enough reprieve for me to catch my breath before continuing.  He moved me as effortlessly as a ragdoll, forcing me down, yanking me up, again, and again.  He allowed me a moment as I coughed and gagged, and then he held me rigid and unmoving as he pumped and pistoned between my lips.  The more control he claimed, the more secure I felt; the louder his grunts and groans of pleasure, the quieter the cacophony in my mind.  By the time he was pulling out to paint my lips and chin and breasts with his come, I was floating, all but boneless as I wrapped my fingers around him to milk every last drop onto my tongue.  He let his head fall back on his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing ever so slightly in his throat as I kissed and nuzzled his waning shaft, the soft, curling hair above it, the taut muscles of his lower abdomen.  My smile was easy and sleepy when he looked down at me once more, and I wrapped my arms around his thighs to hug myself against him.  “Thank you,” I whispered shyly.

“Oh, my love,” he took my hands to help me to my feet, his fingers finding the elastic in my hair and carefully tugging it loose.  “Thank you.”  He turned me to face the mirror, allowed me to blush at the sight of his semen drying on my skin as he picked up my brush, smoothing away every knot and tangle until it hung down my back in a thick, dark sheath.  Then it was his turn to go to his knees behind me, his mouth dusting soft kisses over the sensitive skin at the base of my spine, my hips and buttocks, down the backs of my thighs and calves, and he slid my panties down my legs so I could step out of them.  Tossing them to the hamper, he rose again to discard his own underwear, then tucked me under his arm.  I cuddled close to him as he led me to bed, drawing back the linens so I could slide beneath them before he crossed to his side to join me.  I clicked off my bedside lamp as he did the same, and in the darkness, I moved eagerly into the curve of his body, my arms finding their place around his waist, my head settling into its spot beneath his chin. 

“Feeling better, little one?”  He pressed a warm kiss to the top of my head.

“Yes, Sir,” I yawned gratefully as he drew the covers up over my shoulder.  “I still don’t know what to do…”

“You’ve time to figure it out, love.  You’ve made peace with that, yes?”

I took a moment to consider before answering.  “Yes.  I think I have.”

“Good.  And you know there’s no deadline on the current book… you can take time away from it if need be to come to a decision.”

I stiffened slightly against him.  “Well… yeah.  But… but don’t you think I should maybe just…”

“Michelle,” his voice was kind but firm.  “You will not use your current project as a stall tactic.”

“It’s not a stall tactic…”  Even as I spoke the words, I knew my sullen tone belied my own belief in them. 

“It’s most certainly would be,” he squeezed me a bit tighter to punctuate his point.  “You’ll hurl yourself into it to put off the inevitable, and the writing will suffer for it.  You and I both know that.  And when it’s finished, not only will you be unhappy with it, you’ll still be at a crossroads, and you’ll have no better idea which direction to go than you do now.”  I lay still against him, quiet and cross.  “Put that lip away,” he warned me with a light smack to my ass. 

I blanched a little, grinning, caught.  “I wasn’t pouting.”  Another smack, harder this time.  “Ow!”

“That’s for lying,” he yawned as I giggled.  “Seriously, Michelle,” his fingers in my hair tugged gently, and I lifted my head to look into his eyes.  “You need to think about this.  Take time and really think about it.”  He traced a fingertip along my jaw.  “For what it’s worth, I think Kristine Richards is right.  I think you’ll be utterly brilliant.”

I felt like a child gazing up at the sun as I stared into the open and loving honesty of his beautiful blue eyes.  “You do?”

He nodded.  “I do.”

I leaned forward, impulsively kissing his warm and welcoming mouth.  “I love you, Tom.”

“My sweet Michelle,” he smiled.  “I love you.” 

I didn’t realize exactly how serious he was about my taking time until I awoke with a start the following morning.  The light in the room was too bright, the shadows too short, and I blanched when the bedside clock blandly informed me that I had slept until almost noon.  I sat up abruptly, rubbing my eyes in confusion.  Two suitcases lay open and half full on the floor in front of the bed, several stacks of folded clothes dotted the dresser tops, and two garment bags hung from the armoire, their zipper panels open to reveal their empty bellies.  Eleni’s voice drifted through the baby monitor, humming a sweet little tune as Jack cooed and screeched his way through a diaper change.  I was about to call for Tom when I realized I could hear him, his voice drifting muffled from the closet.  A moment later he emerged, several suits handing from his fingers, his cellular tucked between his shoulder and his ear.  “So sorry, Luke, you’ll just have to tell them it can’t be helped.”  His face lit up when he saw me blinking at him in bewilderment, holding the sheet to my naked chest.  “Luke, hang on.  My gorgeous wife needs a kiss and a ‘good morning’.”

I could hear Windsor’s indulgent sigh as Tom leaned close to claim my mouth with his own.  “Good morning, gorgeous wife,” he monotoned as Tom and I chuckled.  “Aren’t you the lucky one, having a lie-in while your insufferable husband has the rest of us rising at the crack of dawn to dance like performing chimpanzees?”

“Good morning, Luke,” I hummed as Tom nuzzled my cheek.  _What’s going on?_ I mouthed as he stood straight once more.  He held up five fingers, then moved to pack the hangers he held as I heard an indignant squawk resonate through the speaker on my nightstand.  “Eleni?”  I called out, snagging my robe from where Tom must have draped it across the foot of the bed.  “I’m up, honey… Just give me a minute…”

A quick trip to the bathroom, and I padded barefoot to the nursery, where the nurse was kneeling on the floor and helping Jack stack colorful plastic rings on a spindle.  His little head popped up when I said his name, and he threw himself to all fours to scoot his way across the floor to me.  “Quick little bugger, isn’t he?” She rose to her feet as I scooped him into my arms, smiling and accepting the hug I offered.

“He is,” I cooed before burying my face in the baby’s neck, delighting in his belly laugh as I stole noisy kisses.  As I settled into the rocker to nurse, I noticed a suitcase on the changing table as well, filled with sleepers and onesies and several sets of short overalls.  “El?” I narrowed my eyes at her a bit as Jack rooted to my breast.  “Any chance you’ll fill me in on what the hell is going on?”

The petite redhead quirked an innocent grin as she began to collect the toys scattered across the rug.  “If I knew, Michelle, I would.  All I can tell you is that my phone rang at seven with Tom asking if I could be here by nine.”

“Seven?” I winced apologetically.  “Honey, I’m so sorry…”

“Psssh,” she waved a hand dismissively.  “Do you have any idea how many women would kill or die to get a wakeup call from Tom?  He could ring at three a.m. and I’d still answer with a dopey grin, half certain he’d dialed the wrong number.”  She dropped her armful into the bin beside the bookshelf and tucked her hair behind her ears.  “Coffee?”

The warmth of the Carolina breeze tickled its way across the back of my neck, pulling me out of the memory and making me shiver.  Tom’s arm tightened around my shoulders in response and I buried my face in his chest, inhaling his scent and sighing contentedly.  “I can feel that smile,” he chuckled, tugging on my braid as he led me to the cluster of plum trees in the center of the yard.  “Want to tell me what it’s all about?”

I tilted my face up to his.  “Don’t you know?”  He shook his head as we came to a stop, and I circled in front of him, winding both arms around his waist.  “Because I love you.  Because I love everything you do for me.  Because you know this is difficult for me and because you are doing absolutely everything you can to try and make it easier.”  I didn’t realize tears were pooling in my eyes until his thumbs caressed my cheeks to smooth them away.  “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough,” I whispered, leaning gratefully into his touch. 

“Oh, my little one…”  He closed his hands on my neck and I rose on tiptoe to meet his kiss, allowing his warm and slowly rising desire to suffuse its way through my body.  When he released me, he moved to the clearing of soft grass, unfolding the quilt and spreading it in the shadow of the lazily waving branches.  He held out his hand to help me balance as I toed off my sandals, then led me to the center of the palate he’d created.  “Turn around,” he murmured huskily.  I obeyed, shivering as he teased open-mouth kisses along my neck and shoulder, as his fingers pulled the elastic from the tail of my braid and began unwinding it with slow and careful deliberation.  Once they were loose and flowing, he combed through my locks with his fingers before his hands on my shoulders brought me to face him again.  His thumb caught my chin, lifted my gaze to his.  His eyes caught the silver moonlight, his mouth a perfect bow of patiently growing hunger.  “Tell me, Michelle…”

I couldn’t suppress my smile.  “I’m yours, Sir. Utterly, completely, blissfully yours.”

He cocked his right eyebrow with a grin of his own.  “Blissfully, eh?  Well then…”  His fingertips danced their way down my throat, teasing over my suddenly hard nipples on their way to the hem of my t-shirt.  “Lift your arms for me, sweet.”  I did, and he pulled the soft cotton up and over my head, letting it flutter forgotten to the ground.  After that, he flipped open the clasp between my breasts, and I shrugged away the lace and silk as he did the same with his jacket.  We shared a small chuckle as he pulled the monitor from his pocket, making certain the volume was up before laying it aside as well. 

And then, subtly, the air between us shifted, charged with a quiet yet burning intensity.  He towered above me as he stepped close, commanding my gaze to his without uttering a single word.

He started at my forehead, a soft, tender kiss that set fire to the blood beneath my skin.  His lips danced over my brow, his hands holding my neck steady as I trembled beneath his touch.  Each eyelid, the line and tip of my nose, each cheek.  The gentle stroking of his thumb parted my lips, and I sighed softly as he tasted me once, again, and more.  He nibbled his way along my jaw to the hollow of my ear, sucked teasingly at the sensitive skin, scraped his teeth over my lobe.  From the left to the right for similar ministrations and I couldn’t stop myself from pushing into his palms as his hands at last groped firmly at my breasts; his low, brief grunt of approval against my neck made me shudder against him.  “Michelle…”

“Tom…”

The tip of his tongue left a glistening line along my collarbone as he tugged firmly at my nipples.  He guided the left into his mouth, suckling firmly as I arched on tiptoe into the sensation.  He wound one arm around my waist to hold me close, and I closed my eyes as the other hand slid into my hair, pulling my head back until every muscle was taut and trembling for him.  I gripped his shoulders for balance, marveling at the heat of his skin beneath the linen of his shirt, worship ghosting helplessly from my slack, dry lips.  “Sir… oh, God, Sir… thank you…”

He released the swollen bud, grazing it briefly with his teeth, breathing my name into my skin as he moved to lavish the same affection on its twin.  I opened my eyes to see the stars winking overhead as he touched, tasted, teased, eventually moving down the landscape of my ribs and abdomen.  He dipped his tongue into my navel as his fingers unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans; he left my panties in place as he stripped the denim away, then spread me sweetly on my back on the blanket before him.  “Fucking Christ, you’re a vision,” he whispered as he eased himself down on top of me.  I wrapped my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, welcomed him into my mouth once more as the bulge behind his fly pressed insistently against the weeping folds between my legs.  He let me grind against him for a long moment, and then his hands found my wrists, guided them up above my head.  I clasped my fingers obediently; his smile of satisfaction set my heart racing.  “Such a good girl…”

I whimpered softly as he eased his length down my body, his palms pushing my thighs wide as he settled between them.  “You’re so beautiful when you’re wet like this,” he mused, tracing his fingertips over the scrap of silk now molded to my sex.  “Covered… concealed… and yet, I can see every curve, every line, every fold of you that weeps for my touch.”  He pressed his lips against me, humming delicious vibrations through the kiss.  “The way you smell, the way you taste…”  He suckled gently at my clit through the saturated fabric.  “I can’t get enough of you, sweet.  I can take you again, and again, and again,” his eyes, blown nearly black with want, burned steadily into mine.  “It doesn’t matter.  It will never be enough.”

“Then I’ll always be here for you to take, Sir,” I murmured, my voice tremulous.  “Always.”

He swallowed hard, gifting me another tender kiss.  “I love you, little one.”

“I love you, Sir.”

A moment later his finger was pulling aside the flimsy barrier, sinking into my depths as his lips found my hard and swollen clit.  I arched, basking beneath the moon as his tongue wrote poetry on the parchment of my flesh; I moaned each wordless verse to the leaves that whispered in reply overhead.  He held me down, spread me open, authored every beat of my heart with the gentle and persistent work of his hands and mouth.  Deeper and deeper he pushed and probed, urging me slowly toward the pinnacle of pleasure with flutterings of his tongue over and around my clit, hard thrusts of his fingertips against my g-spot.  Unashamed, I lifted my hips, flooded over his mouth, and whimpered softly in broken thanks.  “Tom… Sir... oh, God… please, Sir…”

“Look at me, little one.” 

His voice was quiet control; I could no more resist it than I could stop the earth from turning beneath my back.  I lifted my head, finding the commanding blue of his gaze with my own eyes, open and unguarded.  “S-S-Sir?”

His face was flushed with desire and pride, his lips curled in a small, self-satisfied smile.  “Oh, little love,” he brushed a feather light kiss to my clit.  “How I love to be your Sir.  How I love to see you like this… wet… aching… _waiting_ … such a sweet, perfect girl”  As he spoke, the two fingers inside me became three, and I gasped in delight as he pressed up, constant pressure on that magically sensitive spot.  “Would you like to come for me, sweet?”

“Oh, yes, please,” I nodded helplessly.  “Please, Tom… Sir… let me come for you…”

His other hand moved over my hip, his fingers finding and tweaking my clit with exquisite precision.  But it was his words, his voice that finally broke the dam within and set me bucking and twisting into his touch.  “Come for me, Michelle… lovely little lamb… come for me.”

I rode his impassioned efforts as sensation became sound – the wet sucking and stroking of his lips and tongue, the quiet and unbroken cries of mine.  Wave after wave of gentle heat, tug, and clench, and he brought me down slowly until I lay limp and sated beneath him.  I whimpered softly at the loss when his hand slipped from me, but his lips danced over me in comforting kisses.  “Jesus, I love you…”

I hadn’t expected the wonder in his words, and I forced my eyes to focus once more.  “Tom?”

His smile was wide and peaceful.  “My life’s greatest honor, Michelle,” he murmured softly.  “To be your Dom.  To possess you like this, to hold and cherish this gift of yourself that you’ve given me.   My beautiful, brave, sweet and strong little sub.  To be with you like this?  To know, and to be able to show you, that you are every bit my own here, with only the stars as audience, as you are at home when I have you bound to our bed.  And to know that everything we need, everything _I_ need, is right here.”  He kissed the center of my mound.  “And here.”  He rose up on his arms above me to trace his lips from one end of my scar to the other.  “Here,” he whispered before drawing my right nipple between his lips.  “Here,” he rubbed his cheek against my left breast, just above my heart, his stubble scraping lines of welcome fire into my skin.  I could hear his hand moving over his belt, the clink of the buckle, the purr of his zipper.  His knees nudged my thighs open and up, and I could taste myself in his kisses as his hand pulled his cock free from his jeans.  “Here,” he rasped quietly, breathing in my gasp as he sank into me.  “And here,” he groaned as he tangled his hands in my hair. 

“Yes, Sir,” I managed before he claimed my mouth, filling it with his tongue as he pressed forward, thrusting insistently until his full length was buried within me.  Linen and denim rubbed deliciously against my skin, reminding me I was exposed, vulnerable, protected, safe.  The clench of my body around him broke his mouth from mine as he exhaled the softest of grunts, reminding me that _controlled_ did not mean _unaffected_ , that _Dominant_ did not mean _impervious_ , that _submissive_ did not mean _powerless_.  His grip on my scalp angled me to his desire, his lips teasing over mine.

 

_“Come live with me and be my love_

_And we will all the pleasures prove…”_

 

A roll of his hips, a nip of his teeth at the corner of my jaw.  “Oh, God… Tom…”

 

_“That hills and valleys, dale and field_

_And all the craggy mountains yield.”_

He paused to suckle at his spot beneath my ear; I channeled every ounce of restraint I had into keeping my hands clasped tightly above my head.  I nearly stifled the whine that rose from my chest in the back of my throat, but he never misses anything.  His hands left my hair, ghosting up my arms.  He laced his fingers through mine, holding me down for a few moments of slow, deep thrusting before guiding them down; I clutched at his neck when he finally let me hold him. 

 

_“There will I make thee beds of roses,_

_And a thousand fragrant posies_

_A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,_

_Embroider’d all with leaves of myrtle…”_

His voice echoed through my head, erasing the grass below and the trees above, setting us both adrift in the blue-black sea of stars, the moon keeping vigilant watch over our slow and intimate dance.

 

_“If these delights thy mind may move…”_

 

His forehead came to rest against mine, and in his brief pause, I finished for him.

"I'll live with thee and be thy love."

He closed his eyes, arched his back, pressing his body into mine.  "Come for me, love," he entreated softly.  "Come, and take me with you."  I brought his mouth to mine, hooking my legs behind his knees for leverage.  Lifting my hips to grind us together, I swirled and twisted, watching his jaw go slack, his pulse throb in his throat.  "There... oh, fuck yes, love... just like that... Michelle... _fuck_..."

I dragged his head down once more, returning his lips to mine, desperate to swallow the primal grunts and groans that spilled from his mouth just as my core swallowed his seed spilled from his cock.  The convulsing spasm of his climax rocked my body as well as his, tipping me over my own precipice.  We collapsed to the quilt as one, writhing in concert as the electric waves flowed through the living circuit we'd created.  He held me tight, feeling me fly apart inside my skin, his embrace assuring me he was there to put me back together again. 

And when my heart finally quieted to a gentler rhythm, when my trembling at last subsided, when my swimming vision finally pulled into focus, there he was.  Stroking my hair, nuzzling my neck, whispering love into my ear.  He wrapped the quilt around my shoulders and slid the baby monitor into his pocket before lifting me into his arms.  I hooked my chin over his shoulder, giggling sleepily at the pile of discarded clothing we left behind as he carried me into the house, into our room, easing me carefully into our bed.  I scooted to my own pillow as he undressed, pulling the linens back to welcome him beside me.  Soon we were little more than a tangle of arms and legs under the covers, sharing breath and kisses as our blinks lasted longer, opened slower.  I stroked my hand along his jaw, he turned his face to press his lips into my palm.  "Happy summer, my love."

I shivered into his chest.  "I love you, Tom."

"I love you, Michelle."

His eyes closed, his breathing slow and even.  Even still, I knew he wasn't asleep until...

"Tell me, little one..."

My Tom.

"I'm yours..."


	37. Chapter 37

Coming to life that next morning was like waking from one beautiful dream into another.  The first peek of summer sun was spilling in through the bedroom windows, setting fire to the motes that drifted lazily on the breeze from the ceiling fan.  The pillows were soft beneath my head, and Tom’s body was warm and solid against my back, his arm comfortably possessive around my shoulders.  His breath dusted softly over my cheek, and I couldn’t resist snuggling back against him.  “Mmmm,” he hummed sleepily into my ear, his embrace tightening ever so slightly.  “Good morning, little one.”

“Good morning,” I said through a yawn, craning my neck a bit to see the digital 9:17 displayed on the bedside table.  “Well, look at that!  Little bugger’s having a lie-in of his own,” I mused.

“Nope,” Tom corrected me with a gentle nip to my shoulder.  “He was up and starving at four.”

“Really?” I turned my head on my neck, nuzzling against his stubble with my cheek.  “I never heard a thing…”

“Yes, love,” he chuckled, shaking his head a bit.  “I’m quite aware.”

“Tom,” I whined cutely, rolling over in his arms.  “Why didn’t you wake me?  At least bring him in to nurse?”

“Because I’m perfectly capable of changing my boy and getting him fed when his mummy is tucked away and happily dreaming,” he gave a lock of my hair a playful tug.  “Besides, he conked right back out after the bottle was finished.”

“Still,” I sniffed.  “You could have brought him in… I’d have helped…”

Tom snorted in amusement.  “You’d have frightened the poor thing with all that snoring…”

I gasped indignantly as he tickled his fingers up and down my spine.  “I do not snore!”  He cocked an eyebrow at me until I flushed beneath his gaze.  “Much.”  With another shake of his head, he drew my mouth to his, tugging on my pout with his teeth until I opened to him.  I shivered at the musky-mint flavor of him, the dance of his fingertips over my skin, the rasp of his sweatpants against my inner thigh as I wound myself around him.  He pushed back against me, covering my body with his own, even as he pulled free from the kiss.  We smiled at each other in the sunny silence, sharing breath, until the rattle of the brass knocker on the heavy oak of the front door made me start and set Jack to wailing in his crib.  “Who in the world…?”

Tom’s impish grin told me he knew exactly who was disturbing the calm of the morning; he dropped a sweet peck on the tip of my nose before rolling out of bed.  “You grab Jack,” he directed.  “I’ve got the door.”  He disappeared down the hall as I scrabbled my fingers through my hair with a sigh, rising to pluck a gauzy white sleep shirt from the open suitcase on the floor.  Slipping it over my head, I padded down the hall, yawning and stretching my arms to the ceiling.  The walls of lavender had been repainted a robin’s egg blue and the thick eggshell shag had been replaced by a cobblestone-hued carpet nearly hidden by the colorful playmat painted with roads and bridges and trees and cars.  But it still felt like my room, even with the brand new crib and changing table.  Jack stood in the center of the mattress, sniffling piteously as he clung to the rail.  “Hey Sprout,” I cooed as his eyes lit up and his dimples appeared.  “Welcome to my world.”  He bounced a playful kiss off my lips once I’d picked him up, then giggled as I burrowed the beak of his best stuffed buddy into his belly.  “Shall we go find Daddy?”

The smell hit me before I was even halfway down the hall, and my stride quickened in response.  “Oh, my God,” I blanched in delight as I entered the kitchen to find Tom unpacking boxes and Styrofoam containers from familiar green and red bags.  “You did NOT!”

He tossed a self-satisfied grin over one shoulder.  “Oh, darling, but I did.”

The scent of Brigs chicken and waffles easily set my mouth to watering, and I hugged the baby close as I squealed in childish delight.  “Oh, Jack-Jack, you are in for such a treat!”  I pushed our way into Tom’s arms, grabbing the back of his neck and dragging him down to pepper his laughing face with kisses.  “Thank you, Sir,” I giggled happily.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”  I hurriedly secured Jack in his highchair before scuttling to fetch napkins and silverware.  I filled my plate with the light, buttery pastries before tearing the chicken from the bone, dropping each shredded piece onto the stack before drizzling the entire mound with fresh maple syrup.  I laughed at the skeptical quirk of Tom’s mouth as he settled in before his own platter of eggs benedict and home fries.  “Don’t tell me you’re not used to this by now…”

“It’s just so odd a combination,” he sighed before tucking a bite into his mouth.

“Yes, well,” I plopped happily down into my own chair before grabbing my knife and fork with aplomb.  “If anyone should be able to appreciate that odd can also be delicious…”  I trailed off as I lifted a sweet, savory forkful to my lips.  “Oh, my God,” my eyes slid shut in bliss.  “So good…”

“Well,” he grinned wickedly.  “You’re not faking that… oh, Michelle… really?”  He winced as I held out a tiny bite of my breakfast to our son.

“Hush, Hiddleston,” I sniffed as Jack plucked the food from my fork with curious fingers.  “He’ll learn fish and chips and bangers and mash and High Tea.  You know I’m all for that.  But he’s gonna have a little bit of downhome country boy in his soul, too, that’s only fair.”

Tom quirked a rueful smile as the baby chomped eagerly on his purchase.  “He’s going to get all sticky…”

“Well, we’ll just have to give him a bath then, won’t we?” I cooed as Jack chortled and clapped his hands, opening his mouth eagerly when I offered another bite from my plate.  I felt Tom’s hand, warm and strong, come to rest on my thigh, his fingers brushing just under the hem of my sleepshirt.  His quiet laugh was full of pleased possession, and I felt my heart thump in my chest at the timbre of his words.

“My little ones…”

Jack did indeed transform himself into a Southern style sticky mess.  Maple syrup from my waffles, blackberry jam from Tom’s English muffin, the juice from the sliced fruit we spread on his tray.  All of them made their way down his stubborn little chin, over his plump, rosy cheeks, even up into his flaxen curls.  He didn’t mind being stripped of his sleeper, nor did he mind being dunked naked into the deep bowl of the kitchen sink.  I used the sprayer to wash and rinse his hair, then made the mistake of leaving it in his reach.  Tom’s look of shocked surprise after taking a shot of cold water center mass pushed me into a fit of snickers I knew would be taken out on my backside sooner or later, but it was worth it to see his rippling bare chest as he swept his soaked t-shirt off to wipe his face.  The sun spilling across the back patio was simply too lovely to resist, and tucked into my father’s favorite deck chair, I nursed Jack to the sound of the cardinals and the chickadees as the morning breeze danced over my bare legs.  Tom joined us after donning a dry shirt and running shorts, his arms full of playmats and blocks and colorful plastic cars. 

We’d been lounging among the toys for a while when Tom spoke idly.  “We should get a swing for that oak over there.  One of those plastic ones with the safety brackets.”

“That’s a great idea,” I sighed.  “Maybe a jumper, too.”

“And a wagon!”  Tom grinned.  “Every downhome country boy needs a little red wagon.”

I sat up straight, my shoulders squared with pride.  “I have a little red wagon.”

“You do, eh?”

“I do!”  I pushed myself to my feet, straightening my shirt where it had fallen off my shoulder.  “One Radio Flyer, coming right up.”

The concrete of the garage floor was warm against my bare feet, and I inhaled deeply the mingled scents of motor oil and plastic lawn hoses and grass clippings.  I toed my way carefully through the maze of boxes and bags I still hadn’t had the heart to part with, always absently telling myself maybe, just maybe, we’d find use once again for whatever ordinary treasures lay hidden inside.

The item I was looking for that morning, however, was not packed away.  It sat silent and idle in the far corner, beyond the mower and the weed trimmer and the wheelbarrow full of bags of potting soil and mulch.  I moved the box of Halloween decorations and the bag of Christmas garland it held to the floor, then closed my hand around the metal handle.  The wheels began to roll with a familiar squeaky whine, and I smiled wistfully as I tugged the wagon out into the open.  Dusty but not rusty, it trundled agreeably behind me as I plucked a rag from the tool shelf.

I was on my knees wiping the last of the cobwebs from the faded red undercarriage when the label of a nearby box caught my eye: **_CH – frsh, soph. Profs Curtis, Bishop, Spratlen._** “Oh, wow,” I breathed softly, the cloth falling from my fingers as I reached to pull it closer.  The packing tape stuck fast, so I snagged a screwdriver to slice it open, sneezing at the dust that stirred when I flipped the lid open.  Tears of nostalgia prickled my eyes as my nostrils filled with the scent of bookbinding and ink and the Baby Soft Musk I’d always spritzed on my sweaters and scarves.  Literature textbooks, novels, spiral notebooks, binders – the sum of my first two years of college stacked neatly before my eyes.  I reached in and plucked a few out, flipping through the pages with an absent grin. 

I had just reached the binders for Professor Spratlen’s creative writing courses when Tom’s voice drifted to my ears from the farther end of the house.  “Michelle?  Love?  Everything all right?”

“Yes, Sir,” I called back, dropping the materials back into the box and hefting it into the wagon before standing up and dusting myself off.  “Sorry… I’m coming…”

Two sets of curious blue eyes smiled up at me as I pulled my booty around the corner before sinking back down to a spot on the deck beside them.  “What’s all this?” Tom asked with a chuckle, lifting Jack into his exersaucer before peeking into the box as I hauled it into the sprawl of my legs.

“Research,” I answered plainly as I dug my way back to the journals I’d wanted.  As our boy babbled happily to the firetruck in his fist, I could see my husband out of my periphery, rummaging through the books and papers himself, smiling at the battered copies of **_Julius Caesar_** and **_Macbeth_** and **_To Kill a Mockingbird_**.  But once he realized what else lay within, he soon abandoned the bound work, instead flipping through the spirals and binders much as I was. 

“Wow…”

I sniffed a tiny laugh through my nose.  “Easy on the judgement there,” I quipped.  “I was a beginner.”

I spent the rest of the morning lost in a strange, halting kind of reverie.  Marie Spratlen had been teaching creative writing at least a dozen years before the four semesters I’d spent under her tutelage; for all I knew, she was still manning the podium in the center of room 204 in Greenlaw Hall.  Stick-skinny and pale with corkscrew black curls, she’d been published herself – poetry anthologies, Reader’s Digest short stories.  I’d always respected her, even though I’d often felt like a bug under a microscope when receiving her reviews.  She’d always seemed to regard me with a detached kind of curiosity, seeming more interested in watching my reaction to her critiques of my work than the work itself.  I hadn’t given it much thought at the time; after all, I was a journalist in the making. I’d only signed up for her courses because they were a required part of the curriculum, and my grades were decent enough to not torpedo my GPA.  So it never bothered me that, while my classmates more often than not had their portfolios returned to them full of annotations scrawled in the margins and paragraphs of notes attached to their endings, mine usually came back with only a handful of words staring back in red ink.  “Thin.  Flat. Vague.  Ambiguous.  Promising but unfulfilled.”

Now, as I sat leafing through story after story, I felt the flare of indignation that should have risen up in me years before.

My beginnings were solid, even inspired, ideas shaped around whatever parameters she’d outlined for the assignment, or plucked from the ether when she’d asked for improvised freestyle.  I felt flushes of pride as I read the foundations I’d built, the backgrounds I’d woven, the characters I’d birthed from air and imagination.  More than once, I found myself thinking of a chessboard, lovingly positioned and polished, the sculpted pieces all set in their proper place.  But then, with each and every story, a pattern emerged.  In every little fictional world, opportunity would knock, tragedy would strike, dreams would hover on the brink of coming true.  And then… nothing.  The prose would lose its melody, the characters became wooden, hollow.  And every single tale ended cold, prescribed, lifeless. 

Over and over again, I flipped composition books closed with a frustrated sigh, only partially aware that as I put them aside, Tom took them up.  He was deep in the first efforts of my third semester when Jack began to screw his tiny fists into his eyes, whining sleepily from his colorful seat.  I was more than ready for a distraction, and I tucked the binder that housed my final project under my arm as I hoisted him onto my hip.  It didn’t even bother me when Tom didn’t follow us into the kitchen.  Our normally noisy and playful lunchtime was unusually subdued, the baby watching me quietly as I spooned mouthful after mouthful of pasty puree between his lips.  At one point, his little teeth clamped down on the spoon, breaking me out of my reverie, and we shared a silly smile as I kissed his forehead.  “I love you, Jack-Jack.”  He babbled a string of nonsense in reply as I washed his face, and tucked his head under my chin as I carried him to his room, his tiny fingers curled around my collar.  He was yawning hugely as I changed his wet diaper, and I sang softly to him as I put him to breast.  He was asleep ten minutes later, my perfect little version of Tom, and I closed the drapes just enough to keep the early afternoon sun from spilling across his face.

Pulling the door closed, I padded barefoot back to the kitchen, straightening my askew sleepshirt once more and chewing on my lip in thought.  On the table, the last creative offering I’d written stared blandly back at me from its nondescript cardboard cover.  On the patio, Tom had moved into one of the lounge chairs and was hovered over another of my portfolios, his index finger stroking thoughtfully over his lips, his brow furrowed.  I took one step towards the back door, another, before exhaling a sigh and grabbing the notebook instead.  Shuffling into the living room, I tucked myself into the corner of the sofa to read.

That’s where he found me, almost two hours later.  I’d tossed my reading aside and drawn my knees up under my chin; hugging my legs to my chest, I was struggling not to cry, and he knew it.  “Michelle?”  His voice was tender, his eyes full of quiet compassion. 

I turned my own, wet and weary, up to face him.  “Hi.”

“Hi.”  He hovered a moment longer, before sinking down next to me.  His arms opened as I pushed myself toward him, the haven of his lap warm and welcoming as I buried my face in his chest.  The fingers of one hand curled in my hair at the nape of my neck, the palm of the other smoothed soothingly over my back.  “Talk to me, love.”

I took a long moment of soaking in his heat and breathing in his musky scent, of feeling his protective possessive embrace and tasting the salty sweet of his skin beneath my lips.  Finally, the words came, quiet but clear.  “I’m such a fucking coward.”

The body that had been pliant beneath my own went stiff, the grip in my hair tightened just enough to pull my gaze up to his.  His expression had darkened considerably, and his tone was low and husky.  “What?”

I took a breath, swallowed hard.  “I’m a coward, Tom.”  I curled my fingers absently in the vee of his t-shirt.  “And please don’t tell me you don’t see it.”

“Michelle…”

“No, Tom,” I sat up to meet his eye, grabbing the binder and flipping it open.  “Look at this.”  I began to thumb through page after page, pointing out the few scant red marks and single-word critiques.  “Two years with this woman.  Two years of watching everyone else in her class get their work back looking like some wounded animal bled all over it.  Two years of watching her write dissertations on everyone else’s work while I got back a word or two.  And this?”  I held the notebook up a bit.  “This was my opus, my grand finale.  Everybody else got their portfolios back with _pages_ of evaluation.  And me?”  With a bitter grin, I flipped to the last page.  “I got three sentences.”  I shoved the work into his hands, watching his carefully neutral expression as he read my teachers final words on my efforts.

_“Only when you find your guts will you find your heart.  Only when you find you heart will you find your voice.  Only when you find your voice will you truly be able to tell a story worth reading.”_

I watched his brow soften a bit as he traced a finger over the words, his eyes full of love and warmth when he lifted them to mine once more, and I shook my head.  “No, no,” I shifted in his lap, straddling him as I balled my fists into his t-shirt.  “Don’t you dare try to tell me I’m wrong.  You’ve been reading all morning… You see it, too, I know you do.  Good ideas, great ideas, and I can’t fucking make them work.  So much effort putting the pieces into place, every perfect place, and then when it’s time to play the game…”  I threw my hands up in frustration.  “She knew it… she always knew it.  No guts.  That’s why she never wasted any extra time or ink.”

“Now, Michelle…”

“No, Tom,” I couldn’t stop myself from bouncing on his legs as if to punctuate my point.  “I mean… who would?  Nobody who knows anything about writing.  I mean, God!  What’s the point of putting together all this,” I flipped through the first pages, largely untouched.  “If, by the time you get here,” I pointed to the first words of criticism.  “It is ‘confusing’ and ‘hollow’ and ‘cliché’ and completely disappointing!”  I bit back tears as I actually took the time to reread a few sentences.  “Dammit… I know I saw things more clearly when I started.  I was excited about this project, Tom, I really was.  And,” I flipped a few pages more.  “There!  Right there!  It all started to unravel and I didn’t know how to stop it,” I scowled at the signature at the bottom of the last page.  “And she never even tried to help me figure it out.”  I let the journal fall limply into our laps before dragging my fingers through my hair.  “I mean… what was the point?  She was my teacher, for God’s sake! She was the one who was supposed to be able to look at where I was and see where I was going wrong!  It was her job!  She was supposed to be able to recognize where I was strong and where I was weak, and use it to pull me back and get me on track again.  And clearly she had very certain opinions about where I was weak – no guts, no heart, no voice.  How was I supposed to find those kinds of things without help, without direction?  She could see where I was lost… would it have been so hard for her to help me find…”

My eyes found his, and the words died in my throat.  Slowly, as his gaze focused on mine, as his grip tightened protectively around me, and as my lips groped silently at the air in search of words still bodiless in the void of my brain, it came to me.  Like the pleasant discord of an orchestra tuning up in the pit, made from the pluck of a cello string, the twang of a bow over the crest of a violin, the random blare of a trumpet and the flighty whistle of a flute.  The Maestro taps his baton, and like the flow of the ocean, cacophony blends into harmony and a hundred instruments sing as one. 

His brow furrowed as mine evened, and his arms embraced me haltingly as I slumped against him, burying my face in his neck.  “Michelle?”  I laughed at little into the hollow beneath his ear, feeling him tug gently on my hair in entreaty.  “Michelle… what is it?”

With a cleansing sigh, I sat up, taking his face in my hands and kissing him deeply.  “It’s you.”

He quirked his head skeptically.  “Me?”

“Yes,” I breathed softly, tracing my thumb over the curve of his lips.  “You.  Us.”  I gestured between his chest and my own.  “This.”  Another deep breath, another shuddery sigh.  “Me.”  His expression remained guardedly unaware, and I lifted the binder one last time.  “‘Find your guts… find your heart… find your voice…’”  I put it aside, shifting closer in his lap, resting my forehead against his.  “It’s you.”  I lay my palm against his beating heart.  “It’s here.  It’s all right here.”

His lips curled at the corners, warm and loving and still unconvinced.  “Is it?”

His smile never wavered, not when my eyes filled with tears, not when they fell softly to dot his t-shirt like rain, not when he had to help me lift my hand from his heart and lay it silently against my own.  “Your lesson to learn,” he murmured encouragingly.

“Not hers to teach,” I finished in a whisper before he pulled me close, his chest swelled with pride.  I could hear it in the hum of his voice as he rocked me gently, I could feel it in the warmth of his hands that held me, I could taste it in his kisses when he at last lifted my mouth to his.  His eyes were shining when we parted, his tongue peeking through his toothy grin.  “You can do this, little love.”

I could feel my cheeks flushing, and I lifted my chin just a bit.  “Maybe.”

He pulled his head back on his neck.  “Maybe?”

I swallowed hard, squared my shoulders.  “I can try.”

“My girl…” 

I pressed myself against him, closing my eyes as his mouth sealed over his spot beneath my ear, the heat of our embrace melting me to the shape of him like ore to be molded and honed and fashioned into something newer, better, stronger than before.  As my arms slid between his back and the sofa cushions, his hands slipped under the gauzy white shadow of my sleepshirt to find the bare skin beneath, and I felt for the first time something hot and hard and demanding pushing against the inside of my thigh.  I pulled back to quirk a curious brow at him, rubbing teasingly at the swelling muscle.  “Really, Sir?  My career in the balance and you’re sprouting wood like Kings Canyon?”

He chuckled warmly, his hands sliding up over the tingling flesh of my back.  “You were bouncing in my lap there a moment, darling… exactly how is a man supposed to respond to that?”

“Oh, well, when you say it like that…”  I crossed my arms at my hips, meaning to draw the garment up and over my head, only to feel his hands grasp my wrists and gently pull them away.

“No,” he purred quietly.  “Leave it…”

I trembled ever so slightly as he guided my arms to the small of my back, managing a tiny “yes, Sir” before he closed his hands over my breasts, tracing my nipples through the fabric with his thumbs.  The crane of his neck and his parted lips silently demanded a kiss; I eagerly obliged, spilling soft whimpers into his mouth as he teased and tweaked the hardening buds between his fingers.  My hair fell around us in a dark curtain, and one strong hand slipped down to rub at the dripping folds between my legs.

“Do you want my cock, love?” He rasped against my cheek when need for air forced us apart.

“I do, Sir,” I moaned softly, rutting shamelessly against his touch.  “Very much.”  My head fell back on my neck, my breathy gasp floating to the ceiling as he pressed one long finger up inside me. 

“Such a good little girl you are,” he growled, mouthing his way along my throat.  “Slick and sweet and soaking wet.”  Another finger, and I was rising up on my knees, biting back the keening shriek that bubbled behind my lips as he pushed and probed and plundered.  “So beautiful… so brave…”  His thumb rubbed against my clitoris, making me arch and twist as my hands clutched and twisted the hem of my shirt behind me.  “Oh, Michelle,” he lay his cheek against the damp flesh exposed by the vee of my neckline, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste the first tiny drops of perspiration beading beneath my collarbone.  “Come for me just like this, my love.  Let me watch you… let me _feel_ you… before I let you have my cock and lose myself in you entirely…”

“Sir…”  I whinged quietly, glancing over my shoulder at my clasped hands, at the hardwood floor beneath his feet.  “I… I…”

His free arm circled my waist, his fingers tangling in mine.  He looked up at me, a gaze of blue and gold, of flushed desire and ivory smile.  “Michelle,” he intoned huskily.  “I will never let you fall.”

The heat of his stare, of his skin, the solid presence of his body, his arm… I was floating above him, a bird on the breeze.  And when his nose nudged my shirt aside, when his lips and teeth found the aching bud of my bared nipple, when his fingers curled inside me with precision and purpose, I found my wings, and launched myself to the heights he commanded, leaving all but him below.  I danced delighted on the music he played inside me, a tune no one else would ever hear, the melody mine and mine alone.  And as the sweetness of the song fell silent, he was there, eyes and mouth and hands and cock, heart and soul and promise and peace.  He filled me slowly, fucked me gently, holding my gaze as steady with his eyes as he held my body in his arms.

“Tell me, little one,” he urged, his voice unwavering, even as his pumping hips quivered and stuttered against me, even as the hand that clasped my own pulled me taut above him.

“I’m yours, Sir,” I sobbed, glowing and grateful.  “I love you so much, Tom…”

“Oh, Michelle…”  His hands shot to my hair and he dragged my mouth down to his, breaking the kiss only to gasp his release into my lungs as he spilled into me, sharp, hungry thrusts punctuated by long, liquid spurts that trickled down over both of us as we huddled together in the sated, wonderful aftermath. 

Our hearts were still racing when the first angry squall echoed down the hallway, and I panted a soft giggle into Tom’s ear.  “His timing is impeccable, isn’t it?”  He chuckled in reply, swatting my ass affectionately as I lifted myself off of him, stumbling a bit like a newborn foal. 

“I’ve got him,” Tom grinned, pulling up his sweatpants as I straightened my shirt, ran my fingers through my hair. 

“Are you sure?” I leaned heavily against him, nuzzling his neck as he stretched, long and lithe.

“Mmmhmm,” he nodded, dropping a kiss on the tip of my nose.  “You grab a shower and put something on,” he admonished sweetly.  “Breakfast was grand, but we’ve shopping to do.  And we should probably pop a hello over to Bill and Susan; they’re sure to have seen the car by now, they’ll be wondering what we’re up to…”

As his voice drifted off down the hall, I indulged in a feline stretch of my own, spinning on my toes to look out at the street through the polished bay window.  The afternoon breeze stirred lazily through the branches of the trees of the cul-de-sac, and as I watched a bossy jay flit from knothole to knothole, another voice echoed in the silence.

_“You make that boy take care of you, now.  You hear me, baby girl?”_

I blinked back a tear, two.

“He does take care of me, Daddy.  He always has.”

_“I love you, Chelley belle.”_

“Oh, Daddy,” I sniffled through a smile as my son’s giggle beckoned from his room.  “I love you, too.”


	38. Chapter 38

_Chapter Thirty-Eight_

“What an absolutely gorgeous place to have grown up… my gosh!”

I shifted and turned in my chair, beaming over my shoulder at the young woman gazing raptly out the window of the back seat, her big-eye sunglasses pushed up on her forehead holding back her sleek crimson bob.  

“It does sort of put foggy old London town a bit down on the list,” Tom grinned, catching her eye in the rearview mirror. “Doesn’t it, El?”

“Well, you know,” Eleni smiled shyly back at him. “This much sun year ‘round and us Brits are liable to burst into flame.”  She shifted her gaze to me.  “Not like you Southern belles who turn all bronze and beautiful after an hour or so on the beach.”

I snorted in amusement.  “The only color I turn after an hour or so on the beach is lobster red, so…”  I trailed off as she giggled quietly, feeling Tom’s hand squeezing affectionately at my knee.

“So we share the SPF 30,” she finished with a pert nod.  “Got it.” After a moment, her cheeks flushed the aforementioned shade, and she bit her lips adorably before speaking again. “Michelle… Tom… I can’t thank you enough for letting me join you.”

Tom and I shared a warm glance.  “Eleni, there’s no need to thank us.  We’re delighted you would let us tear you away for a spell; we really missed you, we all did.”

The nurse ducked her head, reaching into the carseat to tickle at Jack’s tummy.  “Well, I sure missed this little guy,” she cooed as the baby squirmed delightedly, the cabin of the car filling with the joyous sound of his belly laughs.

I’d worried all morning that he’d be cranky and out of sorts, with another tooth breaking through his gums and a sleep schedule slightly disrupted by parents so enraptured by family time they put him down later and later each evening.  But after an early lunch on the front lawn with Bill and Susan and Rocket sitting vigil at the edge of the blanket, he’d napped heavily and awakened bright-eyed and babbling happily to his toes.  I’d given him a bottle on the drive to the airport, and he’d waved happily at the passing travelers from his stroller as we headed into the terminal.  The colorful cardboard sign read simply “Eleni”, and he’d gnawed cooperatively on the corner as we stood and waited for her to disembark.  Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and Jack exploded into excited shrieks and squeals, his open arms thrust up until she unbuckled him and lifted him into her own. He’d barely stopped chattering since, occasionally reaching out to tug at me or at Tom as if to keep us in the loop.

We were halfway back to the house when Tom eased the car off the road and I blanched, giggling at the brightly painted trailer selling fireworks.  “You are not serious.”

His smile was childishly dazzling.  “Come on, Mummy,” he whinged playfully.  “It’s our boy’s first Independence Day!”

“Our boy,” I rolled my eyes.  “Is eight months old.  And half redcoat.”

“And half revolutionary,” Tom smirked, leaning close to steal a kiss from my lips.  “A firecracker all his own.”  With that, he opened his door and crossed the parking lot with an excited gait.  

Shaking my head, I turned once again to the young woman in the backseat.  “At least this gives me the chance to talk to you alone,” I smiled as herhead cocked in inquiry.  “I’m going to need your help with something, El…”

Our clandestine conversation was finished by the time Tom popped the hatchback, sliding his cardboard box full of sparklers and bottle rockets into the cargo space with a triumphant grin.  I could tell from the way she pulled her sunglasses down to cover her eyes and hunched slightly into herself that the idea of keeping secrets had set her slightly on edge, and I tried not to snicker too much at her discomfort.  

“They had something called a crackling rose blossom,” Tom announced as he settled back behind the wheel.  “I figured we had to have a dozen, since this is El’s first fourth as well, eh?”

The young woman’s cheeks pinked once again, and I was more than a little familiar with the way her teeth sank into her lower lip at his excited attention.  “Oh, Mr. Hiddleston,” she squeaked quietly.  “You… you didn’t have to do anything like that… honestly…”

Tom shot me a sidelong wink.  “There she goes with the Mr. Hiddleston again…”

I shrugged as Eleni paled in embarrassment. “You do have that effect on people…” I sniffed.

“Oh, God… Tom… I’m so sorry!  I know… You’ve said…”  She groped adorably for words.

“Next thing you know,” he sighed in mock resignation. “She’ll be calling me ‘sir’.”

“I call you Sir,” I offered teasingly, slightly astonished by how many times the young woman’s complexion could shift in one conversation.

“Oh, I would never!” she insisted.  “That’s not… I couldn’t… That would never…”  Finally giving up, she buried her face in her hands as Tom and I laughed gently.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so  _so_  sorry.”

“We really need to pay her more,” I chuckled easily.

“Yes!”  Came the muffled cry from the back seat.  “You really do!”

Once we were home, Tom set Eleni’s things in the guest room while she vanished happily into the bathroom to shower off her very long day of travel.  She met us in the living room just before the pizza arrived, and Jack giggled happily along with our animated conversation from her lap.  We shooed her to bed when her yawns mirrored his; she was tucked in and dreaming when I passed her room to nurse my freshly bathed bundle to sleep. Tom was waiting for me on the deck once the baby was settled; I sipped from his tumbler of scotch before he curled his fingers into my hair, nudging me wordlessly down the chaise to take him in my mouth.  And when her voice sang through the monitor as she responded to Jack’s early morning cries, we curled into one another to make love before stealing a few extra hours of sleep for ourselves.

We spent that warm, lazy day lounging around the house in our pajamas and discussing our schedule for the holiday itself – the local parade in the morning, the community picnic lunch at the nearby neighborhood park, the trek we’d planned with Bill and Susan and Jeanine and Shane to the beach for the evening bonfire and fireworks.  Eleni shot me a panicked look when Tom suggested we head to the shore early, letting Jack nap in the car, but I shook my head smoothly, reminding him that the boy could be a nightmare to manage if we hit the sand with him ill-rested and fussy.  He accepted my objection with ease, and the relief that settled into the nanny’s features was almost comical to see.  

I lingered in the bedroom the morning of the fourth, wanting to be certain Tom was well and truly occupied before I went looking for the small velvet bag I’d tucked into the lining of my suitcase. Finding a craftsman in London hadn’t been difficult, and my lips curled in a secret smile as I inspected the small pieces of shining platinum before tucking them away in the pocket of my clamdiggers. “Darling?”  Tom’s voice echoed down the hall.  “Are you almost ready?”

Slipping into my sandals, I grinned at my reflection in the floor length mirror.  “Be right there!”

The homegrown parade was the same as it had been every year that I perched on the curb or sat cross-legged in the islands of roadside grass with my parents.  Jack waved from his stroller as the local children pedaled past on their red, white, and blue streamer-bedecked Schwinns, their bicycle bells trilling merrily on the morning breeze.  Tom whistled through his teeth at the procession of classic convertibles, saluting respectfully the VFW vets who waved crookedly from their back seats.  We clapped for the high school bands that marched smartly past, belting out their arrangements of “America the Beautiful” and “God Bless the USA”.  Two local firefighters hopped from their rig to deliver Jack a stuffed bear to tuck next to Squeaker, the taller of the two taking the time to gallantly kiss Eleni’s hand and leave her blushing furiously beside the corner stoplight.

We wandered from the parade route to the park at an amiable pace, Tom pushing the stroller with one hand while occasionally caressing Rocket’s velvety ears with the other.  Bill and Susan regaled my brood with story after story of my childhood antics while I rolled my eyes behind my sunglasses, leaning close to mutter into Jack’s ear.  “Don’t you listen to them, Sprout, your mommy was a perfect little angel.”  The sentiment sent Tom into a fit of laughter that left me slightly irritated and mildly worried that he might actually choke to death.  

I tried not to squirm and fidget restlessly as we heaped our plates with hot dogs and potato chips and fresh fruit and patriotically decorated cupcakes, but the slight weight that rested against my thigh was more of a distraction than I’d anticipated.  It took every ounce of willpower I had not to let my fingers steal into my pocket again and again to caress the soft little pouch that held one very big secret.  Thankfully, distractions came and went – the twenty-something girls who begged cutely for selfies with Loki, the silver-haired great-grandmother who’d wept over Tom’s Hank and got a hug and a kiss for her sweet confession, the mighty fine fireman who found Eleni again and kept her color high as he drawled compliments and kept her lemonade cup full.  I thought she might actually melt into the ground when he told her his ladder house would be minding the bonfire that evening; Tom chuckled into my neck that we might actually need someone to mind the babysitter as well as the baby.

Finally, the church volunteers began to stack the chairs and fold away the tables, and Jack rubbed furiously at his eyes as Eleni washed the pureed carrot from his face.  We waved “see you later” to Bill and Susan as they ambled up their own driveway, and Eleni stole the tiniest of glances over her shoulder as I tugged on Tom’s hand, halting his stride towards our own front steps.  I pressed myself against him as she eased the stroller inside and disappeared behind the door, rising on tiptoe to kiss his lips.  “Take a drive with me?”

His brow quirked in curiosity.  “Sure…”

University Drive was largely deserted, so Tom’s look of confusion didn’t surprise me at all.  But I didn’t offer any explanation, not even when I eased the car into a space in the empty lot in front of a salmon-colored brick building.  He looked up at the shingle, quirking a grin.  “A jewelry shop?”

I nodded, unbuckling my seatbelt.  “Come on.”

“Darling…” He laughed, catching my hand.  “It’s a holiday… they’re quite clearly closed.”

I smiled warmly, squeezing his fingers and slipping my sunglasses off.  “Trust me,” I reassured him softly.  “Come on.”

He took his Ray Bans off as well, then climbed from the car with an amused shrug, following me to the shade of the magnolia tree swaying on the breeze just beside the building’s edifice.  I stood toe to toe with him, smiling shyly up into the blue eyes that were the center of my soul.  “I have something for you,” I murmured, slipping the bag from my pocket and pressing it into his palm, holding both his hands in mine.  “Tom,” I swallowed hard.  “I know I will never be able to put into words everything you are to me, everything you do for me.”  I impatiently blinked back the tears that threatened to fall from my lashes.  “Every time I think you’ve done it all, given me everything a man can possibly give the woman he loves, you dig down into yourself, and you give me more.  You’re kind and you’re patient, you’re strong and you’re certain.”  My speech faltered just a bit as he pulled one hand free to stroke my cheek, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning into that gentle caress. “You found me, and you love me, and you  _believe_  in me, even when I lose myself, hate myself, have absolutely no faith in myself at all.”

“Michelle…” His voice was thick and tender.

“No… please… let me do this!”  His thumb smoothed away the tear that escaped the corner of my eye, and he nodded silently.  “I have spent so much of my life… trapped.  Just… trapped and stuck.  I build myself these pretty little cages, and I tell myself that, because they’re pretty, they aren’t cages at all.”  I searched his eyes, buoyed by the love and pride I saw rippling in their depths.  “You set me free, Tom.  You find me, and you set me free.  And I just couldn’t think of a better day,” I gestured to the little pouch he now gripped in his fist.  “Or a better way…”

He paused a heartbeat until I nodded, then plucked the satin drawstring loose.  Opening his palm, he caught the small but heavy objects carefully, his breath catching in his throat.  The heart-shaped lock was simple but finely crafted, as was the tiny key that worked its intricate interior.  “Oh, Christ… Michelle…”

I smiled up at him, taking the lock from him with slightly trembling fingers.  “This is mine.”  I held it out and nodded towards the key.  “That is yours.”  I caught my collar with my free hand, twisting it reverently against my skin. “And this doesn’t come off.”

His gaze held me a long moment as his own emotions crashed inside him.  And then his arms were around my waist and my feet left the ground, and I’d never felt more weightless, more cherished, more free, then when his mouth found mine, whispering “my little one” into my lungs before taking my breath for his own.  He was warm and welcoming, the faithful tide that always carried me home no matter how stormy the sea, anchoring arms, strong shoulders, safe harbor.  

We parted slowly, reluctantly - until childlike wonder overtook him and, still huddled close to me, he slid the tiny key home to open the lock.  We were grinning down at it when the door behind us slid open and a gruff but friendly drawl turned our heads.  “Y’all the Hiddlestons?  Tom and Michelle?”

I turned to smile at the man who leaned casually in the doorway, watching us with mild but unobtrusive interest.  “We are.  You’re David?”

“That’d be me, ma’am,” he nodded, his thick salt and pepper mustache lifting at the corners as the matching hair atop his head danced over his brow.  “I b’lieve we spoke on the phone a time or two.”

“We did,” I braided my fingers through Tom’s to pull him along.  “I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to work with us today.  It’s unbelievably kind of you to leave your family for us on your holiday.”

“Oh, it really ain’t no trouble, m’dear,” he dropped a polite and almost reflexive little bow as he shook my offered hand, then hooked a thumb over his shoulder.  “Our place ain’t but a ten minute walk back thataway, and what you’re asking shouldn’t take but a minute or two.”  He turned to my husband with a respectful square of his shoulders. “Tom?”

“Yes… sorry, David, is it?”  The two men shook hands graciously.  “Please forgive my stupor, my wife does love her surprises.” He wound his arm around my shoulders and smiled down at me with so much affectionate pride I thought my chest would burst.

“Yup, she told me she’d be keepin’ you in the dark,” David stepped aside with an outstretched arm, welcoming us wordlessly into his shop.  “’Course I personally think if your woman never surprises you, you’re with the wrong woman, so…”

“Cheers to that,” Tom laughed agreeably.

Moments later, we were in the jeweler’s workroom; he patted a worn leather stool as he slipped his heavy grey apron over his head. “Re-clasping a necklace, huh?” He pulled a pair of silver-rimmed glasses from his breast pocket and perched them on his nose as Tom and I handed over lock and key.  “Mmm, cunning little bits,” he mused, turning them carefully in his hands.  “Damn fine craftsmanship, too.  Makes me glad this fella’s on t’other side of the Atlantic.”  He turned his gaze expectantly to me as I perched on the edge of the seat.  “Where’s your chain?”

“Oh!”  My fingers fluttered to the platinum at my throat.  “It’s right here.”

He eyed the choker appreciatively over his glasses. “Easy peasy,” he sniffed.  “Wanna hand her over?”

“Well,” I turned my gaze up to Tom.  “It doesn’t come off.  But I can hold the ends for you, or Tom can, if that would be better.” I spun on the stool to offer the jeweler my back, pulling the heavy rope of my braid aside to bare the nape of my neck. Tom moved in front of me, reaching around to open the clasp and hold the ends of the chain; I shivered deliciously as the metal moved silkily against my skin.  

“You sure about this, little lady?” David scratched absently at his chin.  “I mean, it ain’t nothing to change out a clasp, ‘specially the one you got here. But I can’t say I ever did it with m’customer still wearin’ the thing.”

“Is there a possibility that she’ll be hurt at all?” Tom asked evenly, his cerulean stare never wavering from mine.

“Hurt?” David huffed a little laugh.  “Aw, no, son.  Uncomfortable, sure.  I mean, she’s gonna have to keep still while I do m’thing, might take a minute or two…”

“Then she’s sure.”  Tom lifted his chin a proud notch.  “It doesn’t come off.”

“Well, then,” the craftsman clicked his tongue smartly against his teeth.  “Let’s get her done, whatcha say?”

Ten minutes later, we were standing in his doorway once more, me marveling at the new and heavy weight against the top of my spine as David pushed back against the folded bills Tom extended to him. “No, sir,” he chuckled lightly. “Your wife and I squared up over the phone a week ago.  You folks get on outta here and enjoy the rest of your fourth.”

“A gratuity then, please,” Tom insisted.

“Nup.”  The older man shook his head firmly.  “Y’can feel free to send your friends my way if I can be of service.  Otherwise, I told you, we’re square.”  He offered me a one armed hug.  “Thank you kindly, ma’am, for giving me a rather unusual addition to my resume.”

“Oh, a picture at least,” Tom crowded in beside us, leaving the jeweler little room to object.  Selfie snapped, he stepped away to get a shot of the storefront and shingle as well.  He posted the images to his Twitter account the following afternoon, along with one of the heart-shaped lock resting against the back of my neck.  The beautiful hand crafted ornament, a replica of the lock and key with a T and an M engraved into the hammered-thin silver alongside the keyhole, that arrived at the house that Christmas was accompanied by a note that assured us the tweets had served their purpose a hundred fold.

The sun was still high in the sky as Tom steered us towards home, but even with his shades in place, I could feel his gaze flicking again and again to my neck and throat. I shivered as his hand left the gearshift to caress its way along my collar.  “Hey, hey Hiddleston,” I chided playfully.  “Eyes on the road.  You can’t exactly drive safely if you keep looking at me like that.”

“All right then.”  I grabbed the handle above my door with a gasp as he pulled the wheel hard to the right, gravel crunching and dust billowing under the tires as he eased the vehicle off the paved street and onto what appeared to be a little used dirt road.  Pulling into a small enclave of trees, he threw the car into park and whipped off his sunglasses.  I could feel the hunger boiling off of him in waves, and his eyes were dark and dangerous as they travelled down my body.  “You have the time it takes me to round this car, little one.  Otherwise, once we’re home, you’re going to have to explain to the sitter why you’re stumbling to our room with those pants of yours torn to shreds.”

I had my button and zipper open before his door slammed shut; by the time he was yanking mine open and crawling in on top of me, my trousers and panties lay in a heap on the floor at my feet.  He shoved my legs apart as I reclined the seat as far as it would go, and he swallowed my scream of pained delight as he took my body with one swift, brutal thrust.  I clawed at his back and his ass until he caught my wrists in his hands, pinning them to the headrest above me.  “Mmm, yes,” he hummed against my neck as I arched against him, pumping his hips hard and fast.  “Just like this, Michelle, just like this…”

“Yes, Sir,” I gasped, rolling my pelvis against his, desperate to keep to his rhythm.  “Thank you, Sir!  Oh, God, thank you…”

“Oh, Michelle… my sweet little Michelle…” There was a moaning, needy undertone to his voice that drove me absolutely wild, and I met each of his ravenous, savage kisses with one of my own.  “Oh, little one… tell me… tell me now…”

I couldn’t scream the words fast enough or loud enough.  “I’m yours, Tom… I’m yours!”

His responding growl was inarticulate perfection, and as his mouth clamped down on the pulse point beneath my ear, his fingers tangled in my collar.  He jerked violently against me as his cock throbbed and pulsed inside of me, the spreading warmth of his orgasm filling me and pushing me over the summit as well. I locked my legs behind his knees, rocking and twisting and riding out my own pleasure as he rasped encouragement in my ear.  “That’s it, there you are… there you are… oh, fucking Christ, I love you…”

We lay in the bucket seat for long, lazy moments, breathing in the scent of leather and sex, our tongues dancing together through awe-struck open-mouthed kisses.  Tom nudged at my chin until I lifted my head back; I shivered in delight as he mouthed his way along the line of the choker, pausing now and again to tug at it with his teeth.  “Mine,” he breathed into my ear before catching the lock in his hand and pulling lightly.  “All mine… forever mine… mine alone…”

“Yours,” I echoed, closing my eyes in blissful gratitude.  “Yours forever… no one else’s…”

My jeans may have looked no worse for the wear, but I knew as soon as I straightened my seatback and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the visor that the rest of me would tell the tale of our little tryst quite clearly.  My bangs were clumped together, having swallowed the sweat that had broken out on my forehead, and my eyes were alight like neon signs announcing “freshly fucked” to anyone who might care to steal a glance.  The fresh bruise from his mouth was a pretty purple and would barely be hidden even if I bothered to unbraid my hair and pull it over my neck.  I ruminated, not for the first time, on the injustice of appearances as I watched him slide back behind the wheel – after all, a quick pass of his hand though his hair and a hitch to his groin, and no one looking at him would have been the wiser.  Unless, of course, he decided to shoot that lascivious grin that always left me feeling whorishly triumphant in its glow.

He seemed deliciously satisfied the rest of the ride home, so I squeaked in surprise when he grabbed my elbow in the hallway, yanking me into our bedroom and kicking the door closed with his heel. He took his place on the edge of the bed, holding me in the sprawl of his legs and gazing at me sternly. “What?” I huffed defensively, honestly unaware of what had gotten into him.  He cut his eyes to the waistband of my pants, and I blanched.  “Seriously?”

“Now Michelle,” he sighed gently.  “You know I give you a great deal of autonomy when it comes to the things you wear…”

“Tom,” I hated the whine in my voice, but I couldn’t wring it out of my words.  “Sir…”

“Don’t ‘Sir’ me, little one,” he grinned impishly. “What have we discussed about accessibility?  You had to have known that the only other thing I could possibly want after being presented with such an exquisitely touching gift is my sweet, tight little cunt.” His tongue played for a moment at the corner of his mouth, and he illustrated his point by teasing one fingerprint along the seam that ran between my legs. “Had you been dressed properly, taking it would have been so much easier.”

I pouted briefly.  “It was… kind of easy…”

“Michelle.”  One word, one note, dark, warning, loving and low.  I cherished it.

I pulled my bottom lip in as best I could.  “I didn’t do it on purpose, you know.”

“I know, darling,” he chuckled, leaning back on his arms a bit.  “You didn’t think.”

“If I’d just wanted a spanking, I’d have asked for it.”

“And that,” he winked at me playfully.  “Is what makes this one all the more delicious.”

Forcing myself not to roll my eyes, I kicked off my sandals as I unbuttoned and unzipped my fly.  “Jack…”

“Is asleep.”

I eased my jeans down and tossed them aside, leaving my panties in place.  “But Eleni…”

“Is on the phone in the kitchen.”  His tone made it clear he would not abide anymore stalling.

With a sigh, I turned on my toes, wiggling my ass at him.  “Will you at least pull them down for me, Sir?”

“You right little brat.”  Grabbing my neck, Tom pushed me down over his lap, his palm sliding under the silk now damp with both our release.  “Stop your simpering and focus.  Otherwise I’ll go and fetch the paddle.”

“Oooh, promises promises,” I giggled, then yelped in pained surprise as his palm cracked sharply against the swell of my now bare buttocks.  “Ow!”

“Keep up the sass,” his other hand yanked my head back by my hair.  “I’ll make you go cut your own switch.”

That was a threat that stopped my playful disobedience cold in its tracks.  “Yes, Sir,” I breathed, adjusting my tone.  “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Much better,” Tom purred before bringing his hand down on my ass once more.

I curled my arms around his leg, hugging myself close to him as he struck me again, again, and once more.  The tears that trickled from my eyes were not tears of long pent emotional release, nor were they tears of pain.  They were a simple and visceral response to the tangible love in the act we shared – the sting of his flesh as it connected with mine, the gentle tug of his fingers as they curled around the lock on my collar, the soft caress of his lips against my spine as he soothed me through mild but lingering burn and ache.  Almost too soon he was lifting me from his lap and pressing me back against the mattress, his fingers pushing deep inside my throbbing core.

“So scorchingly hot,” he praised as he mouthed his way along my collarbone.  “So slick and wet and wonderfully tight.”  He pressed his fingertips against the swollen ridge of my g-spot until stars exploded across my vision, biting carefully at a rigid nipple through my t-shirt. “Would you like to come for me, my love?”

“Yes, Sir, yes,” I nodded, arching taut, my teeth snagging against my parched lower lip.  “Please let me come for you.”

“Do it, little one,” he urged, his hand pumping harder, the force of it nearly lifting me off the bed.  “Show me you’re mine.  Come for me now, completely undone…”

“Oh, Tom…”  His name was a strangled sob as his thumb nudged tenderly at my swollen clitoris. White hot tendrils of pleasure surged up through my belly, down through my thighs, and I began to shake uncontrollably as I flooded over his wrist.  His touch never abated, catching the pulsing rhythm of my climax and matching it, making the waves of sensation crash on and on and on.  I fisted the linens until my fingers cramped, thrashed my head from side to side against the mattress, holding back shriek after shriek that would have set our son to wailing in his crib and his sitter to pounding on the door in panicked concern.

When I finally collapsed, wrung out and weary, his warmth was all around me, arms and legs and soft, tender kisses.  I bundled into him as he brushed my hair from my sweat-soaked brow, nuzzled his nose against mine, soothed my chewed and swollen lower lip with teasing flickers of his tongue.  I would have stayed in that spot with him all night, but first came the indignant cry through the baby monitor, and then the timid tapping on the bedroom door as Eleni asked if she could get anything for either of us before we ventured out to the seashore.  

Redressed and refreshed, I tidied my braid as Tom left to load the car, and when I walked into the kitchen to fetch a bottle of water from the fridge, the young woman followed close behind, the babbling baby on her hip.  “May I see?” She asked excitedly.  I nodded happily, moving my hair aside and giggling at her coo of admiration.  “Oh, Michelle, it’s simply perfect!  Such a brilliant idea and… oh!  Oh… my…”  I felt my brow furrow at her blushing stammer, until I traced her gaze to the love bite Tom had left on my neck.  “Well… I guess he liked it, then?”

The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon when we pulled up to the sands of Kure Beach, but the air was already heady with the aroma of bonfires and barbeque.  We found Jeanine and Shane after only a few moments, and Jack balanced willingly enough on her swollen belly while the baby inside drummed little feet against Tom’s palm.  Bill ran the grill while Rocket watched vigilantly for droppings, and Susan and I nudged Eleni forward as her fireman waved from his rig parked alongside a sloping dune.  A trio of sun-kissed surfers and their beach bunnies added their collection of fireworks to Tom’s, and it wasn’t long before the roar of the waves was pierced by the occasional pop and sizzle of Roman candles or jumping jacks.  And my Jack sat mesmerized as I swirled a sparkler before his eyes, clapping in delight at the flashes of red and green and blue and silver.

Finally, as the stars began to dot the black canvas of the sky, the whistle and snap of the professional display launched from two miles out to burst above the water drew everyone’s attention.  I lifted Jack from his stroller, and Tom pulled me back against his chest, wrapping his arms around both of us.  We relished each little gasp and giggle as he watched the willows and horsetails and crossettes explode overhead, their colors reflected in his blue eyes and painted over his chubby cheeks.  Tom’s mouth pressed close to my ear and all at once, we were alone on that crowded little island of beach, just me, my boy, and the man who’d made us both.  

“I love you, little one.”

I nuzzled soft golden curls before turning my head to reply.  “I love you, Sir.  So very, very much.”

His grin was peaceful perfection.  “Then tell me again, sweet, I can’t hear it enough.”

I couldn’t say it enough.

“I’m yours, Tom.

_I’m yours._ ”


	39. Chapter 39

Summer colds are the worst.

It came on suddenly, too. One day, Tom was absolutely fine. We left the house after breakfast, car packed to the roof with baby and beach gear. We drove with the windows down and the radio up, singing along with the golden oldies blasting through the speakers. We settled easily enough into our little spot on the island, Tom unfolding lounge chairs and blankets while Eleni and I coated a curious and wriggling Jack in baby-safe sunscreen. Then it was down to the water's edge, where the lazy waves washed the muck from between the little fingers and toes he plunged into the warm, wet sand. The sun was high in the sky when we finally ventured deeper, baby on my hip, Tom's hand in mine. Jack gasped and laughed adorably as the ocean splashed up around us, his silky curls shining like a halo around his head. He was clinging to my neck as Tom swam circles around my ankles; his delighted shriek of "Dada" when Tom broke surface next to us left us both giddy and grinning.

We stayed to watch the sunset, lounging lazily beneath our oversized umbrella, Tom dozing with the worn out infant asleep on his chest. Then it was home to sneak in a late supper of soup and sandwiches and wash off the sand and surf. Eleni padded down the hall with a sleepy smile to tuck the grouchy and grunting baby into his crib as Tom and I headed for the shower. Moments later, he was swallowing my screams of pleasure as I came around his fingers, his other hand pinning my wrists to the wall above my head. We tumbled into bed damp and drowsy, and were soon sleeping soundly in one another's arms.

I woke up next to him hours later, nearly suffocating beneath the heat radiating off of him. I slipped quietly into the bathroom to fetch the thermometer before waking him, then knelt by his side as the digital readout topped at 101. "My poor Sir," I cooed gently, kissing his flushed forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," he growled playfully, pulling the sheet up over his head. "Like someone woke me from a sound sleep." He patted the mattress next to him in wordless command.

"Kick this fever and you can spank me for it," I assured him as I obediently crawled back into bed next to him.

He did not kick the fever; by nine that morning it had climbed over 102 and been joined by a sore throat and rattling cough. Refusing to leave the bedroom for fear of spreading whatever it was, he hunkered down in bed to sweat and sleep it out, sending me requests for tea or toast or more Tylenol via text. It was Eleni's stroke of genius to set up the Skype after several hours of Jack calling confusedly for his Dada; I still have pictures of my laptop sitting next to the portacrib, father and son asleep side by side.

Day number three, and I was yawning over the coffee pot when the doorbell rang. Eleni nearly knocked over her kitchen chair, jumping up and skittering around the corner to answer it. I myself scurried to the laundry room to yank a pair of cutoff shorts up under my sleepshirt, pulling it back into place where it had fallen off my shoulder. A moment later, I bit back a giggle at the young woman's deflated "oh", then watched her trudge back to the table with Jeanine tottering after her.

"Geez, El," she chided, rubbing her hands over her swollen midsection. "I know I've seen better days but you don't have to look so disappointed."

The nanny flushed a bright red, wringing her hands in front of her. "Oh, God... Jeanine... I'm so, so sorry."

"Take it easy on her," I patted the redhead’s shoulder as I handed her a steaming mug. "She's picked up her phone at least a dozen times to try and cancel this little excursion with Macon..."

"Until somebody hid my phone..." The flustered girl interrupted cheekily.

"And now it's just a race to see if she's going to crawl out of her skin before he knocks on the door or not," I finished, pecking a noisy kiss to her cheek.

"Speaking of," Eleni bit her lip, placing her cup on the table and pushing it away from her with a decidedly mournful look. "Perhaps caffeine isn't the best idea right now..."

The two of us set to packing Jack's things as Jeanine plucked him from his highchair, kissing his belly as he screeched in excitement, tugging a double handful of her hair. "You're sure you want to do this?" I asked as I tucked a handful of extra diapers and an unopened package of baby wipes into the shoulder bag.

"Gotta learn sometime," she grinned, propping his bottom on the swell of her stomach. "Besides, Shane's so convinced Lump here is a girl, he's dying for some time with a boy."

"Oh, you'll be absolutely brilliant," Eleni assured her, fluffing her hands through Jack's curls. "Besides, this little man is just the sweetest baby ever... Aren't you, little love?"

We were just preparing to transfer the car seat to the back of Jeanine’s Toyota when a dark green Range Rover pulled into the driveway. I heard Eleni's breath catch in her throat as Macon stretched out from behind the wheel, his long legs eating up the distance between us. "Please allow me, ma'am," he drawled pleasantly, taking the load from my arms with ease. The other two women and I watched admiringly as he secured the seat into place, then tucked the bags in next to it. "All right, little partner," he swept Jack from Jeanine's arms and held him playfully aloft before buckling him snugly into place. "I think he's all set." He tipped the brim of his baseball cap at me before extending a hand to his date for the day. "Miss Eleni?" Blushing furiously, she lay her fingers against his palm, and Jeanine and I giggled like schoolgirls as he bowed to kiss them, the picture of perfect Southern charm.

I stepped back into the house alone, closing the front door and leaning briefly against it. I hadn't heard a single bit of stirring from the master bedroom; with a sigh, I pushed myself into motion. Humming softly, I moved onto the back porch to water the caladiums and cyclamen and dahlias, Susan's pride and joy, as their fragrance danced on the morning breeze. Back inside, I rotated a load of laundry before sitting down to sip Eleni's abandoned coffee, folding the baby blankets and towels from the dryer at the sunbathed kitchen table.

I was halfway through the dishes when I heard Tom's shuffling footsteps behind me, and I grinned as I rinsed the freshly washed plate in my hand. "Hey, look who's up!" I tucked the dish into the drainer beside the sink. "You made it down the hall without falling flat on your face, that must mean you're feeling better..." His arms circled me from behind, pulling me back against his chest, and the remaining air vacated my lungs in a heady rush. He was still just a hint too warm, as if a low grade fever continued to burn beneath his skin, and the scruff on his jaw scraped fire into mine. He smelled of clean linen and sweat; spicy, musky, overwhelming. His hands found my breasts and squeezed firmly, his fingertips teasing my nipples to bullet points beneath the soft gauzy cotton of my shirt. "Mmm," I hummed, trying to keep my voice light, casual. "You _are_ feeling better." I turned my head, nuzzling his cheek.

He nodded, his left hand sliding up to grip my throat as his right slipped under my shirt, grabbing the placket of my shorts, his thumb releasing the snap with an audible pop. "I want to fuck." A heartbeat later, the denim was sliding down my legs as he grabbed me between them, pushing his fingers impatiently inside me. "Oh, good girl," he groaned lustily as I gasped and arched reflexively into his touch. "Nice and wet."

"Yes, Sir," I moaned as he found and stroked the throbbing ridge of my g-spot. "My first lesson." I bit down briefly on my lower lip. “It may be between my legs, but it belongs to you.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he gruffed as he withdrew; I shuddered in his arms as he sucked his fingers into his mouth. “My very good girl.” Spinning me roughly, he crushed his lips to mine, filling my mouth with his tongue and the taste of myself that lingered there. I clung to fistfuls of his white cotton t-shirt as he yanked me to the corner of the counter, brusquely lifting me to sit upon it. He dragged my neckline down to expose my breast, his hands pinned mine at the small of my back as he caught the taut bud of my nipple between his teeth. He suckled at me roughly until I was squealing in pained delight, pausing only long enough to sweep the breezy garment over my head, leaving me naked before him. “These,” he pulled back, his blue eyes blazing with command, squeezing my wrists as he put them back at the base of my spine. “Stay right here.”

I nodded, frantic to obey, eager to enjoy whatever delicious torture he held in store for me after days of waiting, untouched. “Yes, Sir.”

Satisfied, he pulled his own shirt off as well before taking my breasts in his hands, molding them to his palms as his thumbs traced circles around their rigid peaks. “Sweet love,” he murmured huskily into my cleavage, nipping tiny crimson blemishes into my skin. “I have missed you so. The way you feel…” He massaged the swells of flesh between his fingers. “The way you smell…” He nuzzled his way up my neck to the hollow of my ear and down once more. “And oh, my darling, the way you taste.” A hungry flicker of his tongue at each nipple and then he was devouring my mouth once more, his hands plunging into the unkempt depths of my hair to tug my head back, exposing my throat for him to ravage as well.

“Oh, Sir,” I moaned softly when he allowed me room to breathe. “I’ve missed you, too.”

No sooner were the words out of my mouth when he seized me firmly by the scruff of my neck. “Show me,” he demanded, his eyes boring into mine as his free hand slipped down between my thighs once more. “Spread those lovely legs and take what I give you.”

I nodded, desperate to please him. But the affirmation on my lips dissolved into a hoarse and throaty groan of pleasure as he thrust his fingers deep, the heel of his hand grinding against my clit. “Ohhhh, fuck,” I mumbled, blushing under the weight of his stare as his forehead came to rest against mine. “Tom… Sir…”

“Oh, yes, little one,” he grinned wickedly, his hand moving faster with a force almost brutal. “You’re going to come, fast and hard. I want my little cunt nice and tight and dripping wet when I slide my cock inside it.” He chuckled breathlessly as he watched me bite down on my lower lip; when I released it, he caught it hungrily between his own. His grip on my neck shifted, his fingers curling around the lock at the back of my collar. Drawing it taut against my throat, he swallowed my whimper before pulling back to watch my face. “Do it now, love,” he growled. “All over my fingers… come for me… quickly now, don’t make me wait.”

He kept his face close to mine, the heat of his breath dancing over my cheek as my nails dug into the backs of my hands, his expression darkening as my legs closed reflexively against his touch. “Ah, ah, ah,” he tugged at the chain around my neck, pushed himself between my knees. “Open.” With herculean effort, I forced my lower half to relax. As soon as I did, he twisted his wrist, trading the hard pressure of the heel of his hand for the graceful, teasing stroke of his thumb. My body responded, as he’d known it would, without hesitation, my hips rolling sharply in the rhythm he set. “Eyes open,” he whispered huskily. “Look at me… and give me what I want.”

I could feel my cheeks burning, could hear the rush of my own blood in my ears as my orgasm tore through me.  Tom’s gaze never faltered, and I whimpered beneath the exertion it took not to shy from such scrutiny.  But what he saw clearly pleased him, and as the last of my release dripped over his wrist, he tilted his head to catch my lips in a savage searing kiss.  “Well done, my sweet,” he growled into my mouth.  “Very well done.”

I was still shuddering and unsteady when he pulled me from the counter to my feet; only his warm weight behind me and the solid granite in front of me kept me from collapsing to the floor in a boneless, breathless heap.  My palms were damp with sweat, and they stuttered ever so slightly against the smooth, cool surface as he nudged me roughly, bending me at the waist as he kicked my legs apart.  One strong arm circled my neck as his other hand teased the head of his cock along the still-dripping seam between them, and I couldn’t stop myself from wriggling back against him in invitation. I knew the sharp crack of his palm against the curve of my ass was coming; I still jumped when it landed, an almost gleeful yelp skipping out of my throat like a hiccup.  “Sorry, Sir,” I offered guiltily. 

“You little brat, you are not,” he chuckled warmly, resuming his slow and languid teasing. “But you might be, before long.”

“Wha-,” I glanced over my shoulder to see a gingery, scruffy Loki grinning back at me in feral delight. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, little bird,” his arm around my neck drew me tighter against him, even as his touch over and around my swollen and starving sex became more and more delicate. “I think you know exactly what I mean.” I whimpered in frustration as he tickled his throbbing, head against my clit, the tiniest glance of contact, before pulling away once more. “I could come like this, Michelle,” he assured me with a tender kiss to my ear. “Holding you close, feeling your heat, breathing in your sweet scent. I could come like this, jerking my cock just beyond the reach of those hungry little lips, that tight little core that aches to be stretched and filled. You’re already dripping all over me, love, making me nice and slippery slick.” I could hear the wet sounds of his fingers sliding over his shaft, and I knew every single word he said was nothing but stone-cold truth. “Would you like that, my love?”

“No…” I sniveled piteously, shaking my head.

“No?” He cooed playfully. “You wouldn’t like to keep me warm while I pull myself off between your legs, to feel me spill my come all over your soft, sweet skin?”

“Tom…” The word was hoarse, strangled. “Sir…”

“Jesus Christ, Michelle,” his cool, commanding tone slipped ever so slightly as a shudder of pure need wracked his body. “I love it when you sound so desperate.”

Refusing to let the opportunity pass, I turned my head on my neck to face him once more. Lowering my lashes, peeking at him from beneath the fringe of my sweaty, tousled bangs, I bit down briefly on my lower lip. “Would it please you, Sir,” I whimpered quietly. “To hear me beg?”

His triumphant chortle made me shiver, and he pulled my head back to rest on his shoulder. “It might.” He began to rock his hips, slow, languid, rubbing his rigid length between my folds until I was shaking with effort to stay on my toes. “What say you give it a whirl?”

“Please, Sir, please,” my fingers curled, clawing uselessly at the surface of the counter. “Please fuck me. I’ve missed you so much… it’s been agony without you…”

“Mmm,” he purred into my neck. “Has it, now?”

“It has,” I insisted. “I need you, Tom…. Sir… please…”

His mouth was fire around my ear as he nipped and tugged, his voice thundered inside the center of my brain. “What exactly do you need, sweet?” His hand gripped gently at my throat, the pad of his thumb circling the spot where my racing pulse threatened to burst right through my skin. “I want to hear you say it…”

A low whine stuck briefly in my throat until he pulled his body away from me, his hand returning to palm his balls briefly before wrapping around his cock once more. “Please, Sir,” I stammered, frantic to feel him between my legs again. “Please… I need you to fuck me…” The kiss he brushed to my temple was pompous, patronizing, a silent _you can do better than THAT_ that made me gnash my teeth in tormented fury. “Please, Tom, please. Your little pussy is so wet, so empty. It needs your cock, Sir… I need your cock. I need your cock inside me, filling me, stretching me, making me scream, reminding me whose I am and where I belong… oh _GOD_ …”

Finally satisfied with my anguished pleading, he rewarded me with every hot and hard inch of him, shoved deep with one brutally beautiful thrust from his hips. What little strength I’d had left flowed out of me with the keening wail that poured from my lips, and I slumped to the counter in weary, grateful surrender. Tom’s hands found my waist as his knees spread me wide, and I forced myself to lift my head enough to look back at him over my shoulder.

He was golden and glorious. His curls tousled wildly in the sunlight, one errant stand caressing his forehead. His eyes were closed in ecstasy, his head cast back as he took what was his. His straight, even teeth were bared in a satisfied half-snarl, the cords of his neck snapped taut beneath his stubbled skin. The fine hairs exposed by the vee of his t-shirt were dotted with diamonds of perspiration, his nipples were erect points beneath the soft, white cotton. As if he could feel my gaze on him, his lips curled impishly. “You like this.”

It wasn’t a question; I knew an answer was expected anyway. “Oh, Sir,” I purred hungrily. “I love this.”

With an animalistic rumble, Tom yanked me from the counter; before I could blink, he had me flat on my back in the middle of the kitchen floor. His muscular thighs kept my legs spread wide, his strong hands held my wrists above me. I threw back my head to scream my pleasure to the ceiling; his mouth left scarlet stains along my offered throat. His fingers braided through mine just before he came, his face buried in my breasts as his body clenched again and again, spilling into me in hot, heavy spurts. When he finally fell limp against me, I wrapped myself around him like a kitten, purring contentedly in his ear. His face was sleepy satisfaction when he rose up to smile down on me, and we shared our first slow, lingering kiss in days. “Mmmm,” he hummed ravenously when we parted. “Coffee…” I pulled my sleepshirt back over my head as he poured himself a cup, squeaked happily as he landed a hearty smack on my ass before taking his seat at the table. “So, my lovely,” he grinned at me over his mug before taking a sip. “Whatever shall we do with the rest of our day alone?”

From the day the house had become ours, Tom had promised me a lifetime of new memories; the ones we made that day are among my favorites. From the breakfast he packed away with me sitting on his lap, nibbling on his ear, to his hoarse and sexy crooning in the shower before heading out to do the shopping with me. He seemed determined to make up for every moment of the few days we’d lost to his illness: his fingers were everywhere, tugging playfully at my hair, tracing the line of my collar at the back of my neck, teasing my legs along the hem of my skirt. His mouth kept quite busy as well, stealing kisses, whispering sweet endearments and lewd suggestions in my ear in equal measure. By the time we were home from the market I was half-mad with wanting him again; the grocery bags lay abandoned in the entry way as he pinned me to the front door, his hand under my sundress, mine down the front of his jeans.

The smell of my daddy’s fried chicken and my grandma’s peach cobbler still hung in the air when Shane knocked on the door, happily exhausted as Jack babbled from his arms. I giggled at the sight of Jeanine asleep in the front seat of the idling car as Tom carried the baby gear back to the nursery, wrangling the wiggly little body as he squawked indignantly for his Dada. “Hey, hey, Sprout, steady on,” he soothed as he swept the giggling boy up over his head. “Shall we have a bath?”

I tucked myself into the corner of the sofa with my laptop as my boys splashed and laughed from the bathroom; I was still busy typing when they plopped down next to me for Jack’s bedtime bottle. Tom let the baby doze on his lap until my thoughts were purged, but once I set the computer aside, he rose to carry him back to his crib. I was scrolling fruitlessly through the television channels when he returned to the living room, switching off the lights as he returned to my side. He gently took the remote from my hands, and a shiver passed through me as he turned the set off. Taking my ankles in his hands, he straightened my legs before moving between them, his chin resting between my breasts as he smiled up at me. “Hello there.”

I grinned down at him, stroking my fingers through his curls. “Hi.” He lay that way for a long moment, staring me down until I couldn’t stand it anymore, tugging at his shoulders. “Get up here…” With a self-satisfied smirk he obliged me, crawling up to settle the planes of his body into the curves of mine. We tangled ourselves together, breath mingling as our mouths met. He sighed my name into my skin between kisses, tickled sweet melodies against the piano of my ribs with his fingertips. I suckled my own sweet marks into his throat, wrote love letters over his back beneath his shirt. It was breathlessly, silently sublime; kisses, caresses, connection.

We were still locked in that tender embrace well after two in the morning, when the key turned in the front door lock, and a rumpled and starry-eyed Eleni floated through it. Tom and I sat upright with a start, and she jumped in startled surprise, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. “Oh, God! Tom… Michelle… I’m so, so sorry to be getting in so late…”

“Oh, Eleni, please,” I blushed breathlessly, smoothing my bodice down as Tom tried to coolly and casually extricate his hand from under my bra. “It’s not like you have a curfew – ow!” I yelped as his success sent the elastic snapping back against my chest.

“Sorry, love,” he offered sheepishly.

“Oh, God,” Eleni squeezed her eyes shut and stumbled towards the hall, her hands out in front of her. “I’m so sorry… I’m going, I’m going… so, so sorry…”

“Eleni, honey, it’s okay…” I fluffed my hair as Tom adjusted his jeans, both of us biting back laughter as the thoroughly embarrassed young woman groped her way towards her room. Her door closed with a soft click, and we collapsed back into one another, my face buried in his chest. “Dear God, that poor thing…”

Tom chuckled quietly into my hair. “Do you think she thinks we caught her sneaking back from a midnight rendez-vous? Like nosy, suspicious parents?”

“Uh, no, Tom,” I snarked, pointedly yanking the hem of my skirt back over my knees. “I think she thinks _she_ caught _us_ necking in the dark like a couple of horny teenagers.”

“Well, you know, technically,” Tom stood and stretched before offering his hands, drawing me up and tucking me under his shoulder. “We’re both right.” He kissed the top of my head as we headed to our own bedroom.

I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Technically, we are.” I turned my face up to his with a grin. “She was out really late…”

“She was,” Tom whispered as our door closed behind us, turning me to lift my dress over my head. “Firefighter Palmer must have made quite the striking impression.”

“Uh, yeah,” I quipped as he unhooked my bra and tossed it aside as well. “Did you not see him in those board shorts?”

“Hey!” He reached around to pop a quick smack to my right buttock.

“Tom, I’m serious,” I pulled his t-shirt off and unbuckled his belt. “He’s got abs you could grate cheese on.”

“Michelle,” he scowled playfully as his jeans fell to the floor.

“And his ass…” I giggled as he glared. “Bounce a quarter off of it and you’d get back two dimes and a nickle.”

“Keep talking, brat,” he scooped me off my feet as I squealed and squirmed. “I’ll bounce something off your ass as well.” He tumbled us into the bed together, pinning me down as he snarled into my neck. “It’s been awhile since you’ve had a good paddling…”

“Oh, God, Sir,” I moaned, arching into him. “Yes, please!” His fingers slid into my hair as his tongue slipped between my lips, and I purred contentedly into his mouth.

We snuggled playfully that way for awhile, tickling and teasing, whispering speculation about our sweet friend’s evening, and about the possibilities ahead of her. I was bundled against Tom’s side, yawning into his chest when he nuzzled into my forehead. “One more week.”

I sighed. “Yep. One more week.”

“Are you ready to go home, love?” He asked gently, stroking his fingertips along my spine.

I took a moment to think, then answered him honestly. “I am, Sir.”

His finger under my chin lifted my eyes to his, then played over the lock on my collar that had migrated to the hollow of my throat. “It’s been a beautiful summer,” he murmured, and I nodded my agreement. “I love you, Michelle,” his whispered.

“I love you, Tom.” I pressed a kiss to the skin above his heart. “Thank you. So much… for everything. Thank you.”

“Come on, little spoon.”

I smiled in childlike delight as he turned me on my side, molding the curve of his body to mine. I closed my eyes in that early morning dark, his arms possessive and protective around my shoulders, listening to his breath whisper over my skin, feeling the quiet beat of his pulse against my back. I was all but certain he was asleep, and all but adrift myself, when his last words of the day, of all our days, met my ears.

“Tell me, Michelle…”

“Oh, Sir,” I lifted his hand, kissing it before pressing it to my cheek. “I’m yours.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	40. Chapter 40

The day before our departure home dawned grey and stormy; for once, I was the first of my little clan to wake, sighing happily to myself at the sound of the rain tapping against the windows. I had Jack’s breakfast warm and ready before he stirred, and took great pleasure in nuzzling all over the sleepy smile he offered when I lifted him from his crib. He was clean and dry in a fresh romper with a full belly when we peeked around the corner of the master bedroom with coffee in tow; his delighted squeal of “Dada!” roused Tom with a grin. He threw the sheets back, welcoming us both with a pat of his hand to the empty space beside him. Jack scooted across the mattress to burrow into his chest and I settled in as well, craning my neck past his small curly head to sneak my own good morning kiss.

Time passed all too quickly in that warm linen cocoon, the three of us cuddled close. Tom and I chatted quietly as the baby rolled and gurgled and played with his toes until our alarm buzzed from the nightstand, reminding us to check in for our flight. Then he shooed me away for a shower while he tended to the boy; I emerged just in time for sleepy kisses and watched from the hall as father tucked in son for his nap. I wound my arms around my husband’s waist as he pulled the door to the nursery closed, shivering happily as he hugged me back, his cheek coming to rest against the top of my head.

“Ready to finish packing, love?”

He assembled a mishmash lunch from the few things we had left in the kitchen; we moved around one another in comfortable silence, eating in small distracted bites, touching gently here and there as the suitcases and garment bags filled and the closet and dresser drawers emptied. We were spreading dust covers over the living room furniture when Jack howled from his crib; Tom scowled playfully at me when I shrugged at the sound of the plaintive “Daaadaaaa!”

“He’s not calling me, Sir.”

The afternoon sun dried the diamond drops of rain from the grass, and after dinner, we watched from our backyard picnic blanket as Jack scurried across the lawn to offer Rocket his salty, sticky hands through the slats of the fence. His cheerful chortle floated to us on the evening breeze as the amiable retriever lapped at him with his long pink tongue.

“We should get him a pup of his own,” Tom mused, reaching over to smooth back a lock of my hair that had escaped the loose bun I’d twisted atop my head.

“Really?” I couldn’t help but crook an eyebrow at him as he leaned in to tease the slope of my throat with his lemonade-cool lips. “The thought of potty-training one little runt not enough for you?”

He snorted a small laugh against my skin, making me shiver. “Oh, come now, sweet… it’s not like Sprout’ll be toddling about wetting the carpet…”

“You don’t know that,” I said, nudging my shoulder against his chest, “don’t jinx it!”

Bill and Susan met us at the fence line when we moved in to separate boy and dog; we shared teary hugs and sniffled goodbyes before returning to the house. Tom locked the door, one watchful eye on my wistful expression as I drew the curtains on the setting sun, swallowing hard at the sight of the sweet Southern night I knew I wouldn’t see again for quite some time. He used a gentle thumb to dry my cheeks while Jack yawned, burrowing his face into my neck, and we ambled slowly, silently, down the hall. I lay the baby on the bed and set about undressing him, Tom continued into the master bath to run the tub. I was surprised and delighted when he returned to my side, long and lean and naked himself, to take the bare, squirming body from my arms.

“Come on, Mummy,” he smiled, eyeing my clothing before burying his nose in our son’s sun-kissed crown, “let’s all have a wash.”

The water was deep, crested with bubbles, and Jack squealed in delight as we sank down into it together. He splashed happily between the two of us, cooing and babbling as he showed us his rubber duck, his tubby tugboat, his star-shaped sponge. Tom’s long fingers moved with absurd grace over his little skull, rubbing his curls into a soothing lather before making him gasp and giggle beneath the teacup rinse. Then it was my turn, Tom turning my back to his chest as I held the baby on my lap. I sang silly lullabies and tickled chubby toes as my husband pulled the clips from my hair, combing through it first with his fingers and then with my mother’s brush from my mother’s vanity. I closed my eyes against fresh tears, breathing in the scents of lavender and vanilla while leaning into the comforting “I love you” he whispered against my temple.

The bath was still warm when Jack screwed his little fists into his eyes, the reedy whine rumbling in his throat letting us know his good humor would not wait for the chill. I rose with him at Tom’s gentle urging, wrapping him in a thick plush towel before slipping my arms into my robe. I ran my palm over the stacks of fleece and cotton and terrycloth tucked into the suitcase before plucking a clean sleeper from the pile, a personal favorite sprinkled with tiny red owls and foxes, curious grey squirrels and friendly brown bears. I bit my lip as I looked at the snaps, now straining a bit, a heart-twisting visual reminder that my little Sprout was growing like a weed every day.

“Look at that,” I tickled an exposed spot of soft pink skin at the center of his chest, giggling at his little screech, “one more thing you and your daddy have in common.”

My mother learned to knit in Germany, and the blanket draped over the back of the glider rocker was the piece she’d been most proud of; I made a mental note to pack it to take home as well as I wrapped it around Jack’s shoulders. His little hand waved at me as he settled in to nurse, staring up with glassy blue eyes; I caught his little fingers and kissed them, one by one. His cheeks were still plump as summer plums, and his hair still tumbled well over his forehead, but his sculpted brow was Tom’s to the life, and his little nose was already taking on the same long, elegant slope.

“My baby,” I whispered as his long, feathery lashes fluttered, as his slow, sweet breath dusted over my breast, “my beautiful boy.”

I continued to rock him well after he was asleep, gazing out at the violet sky, humming quiet harmony with the trill of the cicadas, watching as stars and fireflies illuminated the dark in gold and silver flashes. I listened to the sounds of Tom draining the bath, collecting up the tub toys, puttering in and out of the closet, and running water in the sink before emerging from the bathroom, clad in his own snugly cinched robe. Smiling at me in silent approval, he crossed to his nightstand where his cellular was charging, the LED alert flashing steady and patient. He slipped the phone into his pocket, and I welcomed his minty kiss with a curious grin as he leaned over to take Jack for his own goodnight cuddles.

“Missed a call from Michael,” he murmured, rubbing the baby’s back. “Gonna return it after I put him down, might be a moment.”

“Why is Michael calling at three in the morning?” I asked incredulously, tucking myself back into my robe and tightening the sash.

“It’s not three in the morning in Montreal,” he explained absently. “Kathleen’s cousin’s wedding, I think.”

“Then…” I tilted my head in mild confusion, “why is he calling from his wife’s cousin’s wedding?”

“I don’t mean he’s at the wedding right now, darling,” Tom chuckled as he headed out the door, “but if he’s got a word about that theater project, I don’t want to wait…”

His voice faded as he moved down the hall, and I shrugged, muttering a bemused, “ _Which_ theater project, my love?” under my breath as I padded back to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and rinsed my mouth, stared down my reflection for a heartbeat or two before snapping off the light and returning to the windowed wall, crossing my arms over my chest with a sigh.

_The next time we’re here, Jack will be big enough for my swing. He’ll be able to hold our hands and walk to the turtle pond, he’ll be able to chase and feed the ducks. If Tom was serious… travelling a dog… God, would that be a nightmare? Although… there’s not much cuter than a boy in bib’alls with his trusty mutt at his side. Daddy would approve, I’m sure..._

I was lost misty-eyed in memory when long, strong arms circled me from behind: a slow, steady heartbeat thumping against my back, a warm, wonderful mouth nuzzling my neck, a rich, honeyed voice rumbling in my ear.

“Penny for them, little one.”

I sneaked my hands under the cuffs of his sleeves, rubbing my palms over the muscles of his forearms.

“Just… anticipating,” I breathed at last.

“Anticipating?” His teeth nibbled tenderly at my ear.

“Mmm,” I nodded, shifting my weight on my feet. “So much… different… so much new. Things… changing, always changing.”

“That they are,” he agreed quietly, rocking me in his embrace before plucking the thought from my head and speaking it aloud. “He’s so big.”

“He is,” I sniffled through my smile, “our little miracle.” I swiped a hand under my nose. “I kind of can’t stand it.”

We laughed together as he turned me in his arms, and I slid my fingers into his hair. His mouth found mine, his hands easing down my body to mold it to his as we kissed, slow and sweet. When we parted, his eyes were glowing with calm but electric purpose and his tone was anchor-solid, wrapping around me like a blanket as he spoke.

“Michelle… I’m so bloody proud of you.”

I shivered, feeling my cheeks pink at the unexpected praise.

“You’re so much better at this than you used to be,” he smiled, “but… love… that doesn’t mean I can’t still feel it. It might not roll off you in waves like it did before, but I know it’s there.” He stroked his fingertips over my collarbone as his other hand patiently pulled the knot from the sash at my waist. “It vibrates just beneath the surface, making your heart beat just a little faster, your stomach twist just a little tighter,” he reached up, his thumb nudging my bottom lip free from my teeth, “makes you bite this lovely little lip of mine just a little harder.” He leaned down, kissed the chapped furrow with reverent care as my robe fell open. He slid his arm around my waist, his palm coming to rest comfortably, possessively, on the curve of my ass. “Tell me you know how much I love you.”

I nodded easily, my body already softening to that note of authority that never really left his voice.

“I do, Sir. I know you love me more than I ever hoped anyone would.”

“Tell me you still trust me to take care of you.”

“Oh, Sir,” I sighed, blinking, refusing to let the tears in my eyes make their way down my face. “I trust you. More than anything, more than anyone.”

“My beautiful girl,” he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear before catching my hand, stepping towards the bed. “Come. Trust me. Let me take care of you.” He peeled my robe off my shoulders, let it fall to the floor.

“Let me love you.”

His soft, sensual kiss made it easy to melt down onto the mattress, his firm nudges guiding me to the center. He braced his knees on either side of my hips as his hands pushed my arms up and out, my fingers stretched towards the bedposts. Then he crawled down the length of my body, tickling my skin with the tip of his nose, spreading my legs in like fashion as he eased off the foot of the bed. I licked my lips in expectation, watching his tall, graceful form glide across the floor. His hands worked quickly, freeing the curtains from their ties and drawing them against the night, and when he turned back to me with the silky braided cords dangling from his hands, I swallowed hard, nodding my consent.

I love watching him as he works, whether he’s reading a script, visualizing blocking in his head, walking the floor perfecting his gestures, reciting from memory with a dozen different inflections and variations as he tries them on for size. But there’s a singular thrill unlike any other watching him fashion the knots or buckle the cuffs he uses to keep me in place. A quiet serenity settles over his features as his fingers work with speed and certainty, his blue eyes filling with a calm, commanding light. His lips purse into a thin, thoughtful line as he wraps whatever restraint he’s chosen around my wrists, my ankles, until he’s satisfied they’re both secure and safe; when I nod that I am indeed confined and comfortable, they curl into the most enticing smile before caressing my forehead, my cheek or my mouth. His breathing settles into a slow, seductive rhythm of rise and fall and mine follows after, completing the circuit and connecting us for whatever comes after, punishment or play.

I curled my fingers around the ropes as he straightened beside me, his gaze sweeping leisurely down my form before he moved to close the door and dim the lights. Shedding his robe, he returned to circle the bed, stroking his rising cock almost as an afterthought. Finally, he knelt on the floor, leaning over, his handsome face so close to mine, his fingers playing lightly in my hair.

“What would you have, little one?”

“I…” my stomach twisted a bit, “would have whatever you want, Sir.”

His chuckle was warm, indulgent, but he shook his head and I groaned internally as he spoke against my lips once more.

“What would you have?”

I craned my neck in an attempt to capture his mouth with my own but he retreated with ease, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Kiss me, Tom,” I whimpered, wriggling a little in my bonds, “please kiss me.”

“Kiss you?” A serious inquiry as he obliged a little, his lips just barely caressing mine. “Mmm, my sweet,” another chaste peck, “I do adore kissing you.” He flickered the tip of his tongue against the seam of my mouth, pulling it back before I could taste it proper. “Your wise and wicked little mouth is, after all, one of the things I love most about you. Soft and warm and pink…” More contact, firmer this time, but again retreating far too soon. “So wet,” his tongue danced against mine briefly, “so welcoming…”

I was drawing in breath to whine his name when his hand slid under my head and he claimed me fully, kissing me at last as if both our lives depended on it. His teeth were welcome pressure against my flesh and my lungs surrendered their air with ease, but after only a moment, it was no longer enough, everything below my neck nattering at the absence of his touch. I arched my back, pushed against the mattress with my feet, gaining nothing but a mouthful of his playful laughter. I gasped for breath as he rose up again, quiet, controlled, infuriating and irresistible.

“What would you have, little one?”

“Touch me, Sir, please,” the words dribbled from my mouth with ease, and I clenched my jaw as his fingers flexed just a bit against my scalp.

“I am touching you, love,” he answered, cool and clear, his grip holding me still as reflex attempted to thrash me away. “You feel it, I know you do…”

“Harder, please,” my cheeks were burning, “harder… owwww…” I moaned low in my throat as he obliged, his fist tugging firmly and granting me the first sips of steadying pinprick discomfort.

“Like this?” he queried softly, pulling my head back until the muscles of my neck strained. He scraped his stubbled jaw against the skin of my throat, leaving threads of fire in his wake. The burning sensation settled into my blood, raced through my head, and plunged southward, igniting an inferno in the pit of my stomach.

“Yes,” I nodded, panting, until he yanked me still once more.

“And now what?” a tender taunt, his voice full of dark affection. “More kisses, perhaps?” He fluttered sweet and tender pecks along the line of my jaw, over my hammering pulse, up to the hollow of my ear. “Such a pure and proper pet you are for one bare and bound and spread before me. Still,” his sigh echoed through my brain as his tongue flickered against my earlobe, “if this is all you want…”

“It’s not, Sir,” I whimpered, my hips shifting against the mattress as he suckled gently on the delicate flesh, “it’s not… oh, _God_ …” my words came to a halt with an abrupt squeak as he gave my hair another sharp tug, his teeth sinking in hard enough to bruise.

“Then put that stubborn little mouth to use,” his tone was honeyed venom, “and tell me what you want.”

“Hands,” I blurted desperately, dragging in a ragged breath. “Hands… your hands…on my body…touch me, Tom, please…”

“Like this?” He nuzzled at my temple as his fingers brushed lightly over my forehead, traced along my brow, slipped down over my eyelids to seal them shut.

“Yes… no…” I muttered as his index finger slid down the slope of my nose, over the curve of my cheek, and I opened my mouth as he outlined the bow of my upper lip.

“Such a hungry little thing,” he purred in my ear as my tongue stretched to taste the salt of his skin; he pushed into my mouth with careful but determined force. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you torture yourself so… _mmmm, darling, that’s lovely_ ,” I could hear his smile in his words as I sucked greedily. “After all,” he began to pump the digit in and out with a smooth, sensual rhythm, “here I kneel, asking instruction, yours to command… _oh, that’s it, love, a little deeper_ …” It was easy not to gag as he pushed towards my throat; he added his long middle finger to up the ante. “And yet, you still struggle so.”

Something in his words struck a chord deep inside me, and before I realized, my eyes blinked open to lock with his. Cocking an impudent brow, I stretched my neck, drawing his fingers deeper. Closing my teeth cautiously on his knuckles, I swirled my tongue over, around, between and back again, sighing as I watched his pupils dilate, his jaw slackening the slightest bit.

“There’s my saucy girl,” he snickered, and I mewled a small pout as he pulled his hand away, taking the moisture from my mouth with it. Pushing himself onto the bed, he settled on his knees beside my head, smiling down at me as he smoothed it over the straining length of his cock with casual ease. “Feel like showing off a bit?” Taking himself in his hand, he guided his crown to my lips, tracing each camber with a touch barely there. “By all means,” he milked a shimmering drop of his own excitement onto my skin, smirking as I lapped it eagerly away, “impress me if you can.”

My wrists twisted against the cords as I lifted my head from the mattress, curling my tongue around him as he rocked, slow and smooth against my mouth. He tasted of salt and citrus, like late summer sunshine, and before long I was ravenous, grunting in frustration as he held his shaft just beyond the grasp of my lips.

“Sir… please…”

His fingers stroked through the hair tumbled across my brow with loving care as he grinned down at me.

“Please what, my dear?”

“I need…” I stammered, lunging to engulf him, missing once again. “Need… you… need more…”

“Need more what?” Paternal, patient. Maddening.

“Your cock,” I managed at last, “all of your cock. Deep… hard…” The satisfaction slowly spreading across his features spurred me on, and I licked my lips once more, beckoning him closer. “Fuck my mouth, Sir, please… let me taste you… let me feel you…”

Squaring his shoulders and moving with regal grace he eased himself over me, settling in the sprawl of my bound arms, taking great care not to catch any stray strands of my hair beneath his knees. I shuddered with anticipation as he slid his hands around my neck, his thumbs tracing the hollow of my throat, the corner of my jaw. He arched me into position, and I moaned softly as at last he rewarded me with a firm forward nudge between my lips, pressing the flat of my tongue against his thick, throbbing veins.

“Mmm, there we are,” he hummed, his gentle grip supporting my neck as he rolled forward, “see how easy it is? How happy I am to oblige you when you do as you’re told? How easy it is to slide my cock into that luscious little mouth of yours when you ask proper? How much I enjoy feeling that talented little tongue work its magic?” He paused for a brief moment when he hit the roof of my mouth, the back of my throat, savoring the quiver of my muscles around him as I struggled to hold him, resisting every urge to lunge forward, to pull back. Then, exhaling a chuckle heavy with pleasure, he pushed past the barrier with practiced ease, shuddering at the weak choking noise that heralded my triumph over my body’s own instincts. “How much I love to see how it pleases you to please me?”

He eased himself forward until I’d swallowed him whole, then paused once more, listening to the quivering rhythm of my respirations as I again battled my reflexes. He let his head fall back, putting the elegant cords of his neck on display; I closed my eyes and swallowed around him, imagining the curve of his Adam’s apple bobbing between the angles of his collarbone. His fingers tightened on the scruff of my neck as he pushed forward, his thumbs pressing carefully against his shaft as it moved beneath my skin.

“Jesus, Michelle… so good…”

I nodded, humming pleading approval, shuddering at the way his body twitched at the sensation. He rocked back, slid in to the hilt once more, then hovered unmoving above me.

“Push your tongue out, love, far as you can… that’s it, let me feel it, nice and wet…”

I dragged in air through my nostrils, felt tears pool in the corners of my eyes as he nudged against my chin, a slow, gentle pulsation.

_Breathe, Michelle… just breathe._

He groaned softly as I exhaled, retreating smooth and steady, smiling down at me as I gasped another breath into my lungs.

“Good girl. Again.”

Over and over again he took my throat in agonizingly patient thrusts, lingering deep longer and longer until my chest was burning, tears streaming down my cheeks, my nose threatening to run as well. Every time he withdrew his blue eyes found mine, a silent check-in to insure I was with him, but I could feel myself approaching my limit, my jaw aching, everything below screaming for attention of its own.

“Again.”

“Sir…”

“You can, little one.” Soft, stern. “You will.”

I swallowed down a hitching sob, sniffled, then nodded, craning my neck a little further and opening my mouth as wide as I could.

“ _Fuck_ …”

The word was little more than breath with sound, but it filled me with a rush of strength, and I whimpered welcome as he slid between my lips, a little faster this time. His hands tightened the perfect pressure around my neck as he found his depth, and at last my body began to relax as he began to rut against me. I drifted on the tide of his grunts and groans, breathing deep, swallowing around him, stroking him as best I could with my swollen tongue. His scent filled the air, tart and musky, the sheen of perspiration leaving him golden and glistening in the low light. And then his hands slid down to cup and squeeze my breasts, his fingers pinching roughly at my nipples as he pitched over the edge, spilling hot and thick into my throat as he growled my name in unholy praise.

I dragged in a double lungful of air as he collapsed, panting, against the headboard, wriggling in my restraints to press my forehead against his bare thigh. The boxspring creaked as he bent over me, savaging my mouth with his, stealing the lingering taste of his pleasure from my palate between raspy snarls of “I love you.” I met his ardor as best I could, but every inch of my skin was on fire, the cleft between my legs all but collapsed in on itself from raw, drawing need.

“Please, Sir,” I sobbed, feeling the flesh of my lower lip tear just a bit beneath the edge of his teeth. “Please, I need you.”

“You have me,” he groaned, laving his tongue over the break, his fingers tangling in my hair to drag me to a more accommodating angle, “fucking _Christ_ , do you have me…”

“No, Sir,” I mewled, “I mean yes, Sir, but I need… I need…”

“What, little one?” he queried, the crooning of his voice belying the brutal clutch and tug of his hands. “What do you need?”

“I… I…” I tossed my head against the mattress, “Tom…”

“Tell me, Michelle…” His nails scratching against my scalp, his breath scalding the tender flesh beneath my ear. “Say the words… come on, my girl, make me proud.”

“My pussy,” I screeched at last, “finger my pussy… fuck me with your cock... please, Sir, it _hurts_ …”

His velvety “Eheheheheh” was rumbling through my brain, two strong digits gliding frictionlessly into me before I could complete the final syllable, dissolving the last word into a long, guttural moan that rose like steam from melting snow. Cool air wafted across my cheeks as he moved his body down, alongside mine, his lips latching to my right nipple as my hips struggled to rise from the mattress to meet his touch. His stubbled chin scraped a delicious rash into my skin, his teeth nipping darker accents here and there. And between my legs, his hands worked with vicious purpose, his fingers hooking and tugging inside me, determined to bring me off in the quickest, most cruelly perfect way.

“Sir,” I croaked, lifting my head the barest bit to meet his eyes.

“Little one, you’ve done so well,” he growled through an all-too-familiar Nordic smirk, “ _don’t fucking argue with me now._ ”

A thousand words boiled behind my lips, but that invisible chain that so often tightened around my tongue at his command (admittedly sometimes later than it should) anchored the muscle to the roof of my mouth. Lying back, I tried to focus on my breathing, in through my nose, out through my mouth. But, as if determined to keep me painfully unbalanced, Tom pulled his hand back, adding a third finger when he thrust in once more, driving so deep so fast I nearly choked on the simple air in my throat.

I could feel the curl of his grin against the side of my breast as he twisted his wrist, shifting the pressure of his fingertips higher, increasing the speed of his push and pull. I could feel the familiar vibration starting in my thighs, quivering down my legs until they were drumming helplessly against the mattress. And then everything below his hand was numb, everything above clenching in ecstatic agony as the world before my eyes dissolved into blinding white light. He drew the cresting tide of my delight from me in a savage, searing flood that soaked the sheets and left me shaking, grateful for my moorings lest I float too far on the warm and wicked waves.

A heartbeat, maybe two, maybe two hundred, I had no way of knowing. But then tension at my ankles released as Tom’s fingers yanked free his carefully crafted knots, his body coming to rest between my legs. My arms stretched to their limit as he pulled me down by my knees, hurling my legs around his waist. The colors of him swam in and out of focus, the intense burning blue of his eyes, the glowing gold of his skin, the searing scarlet of his cock, erect and leaking as he curled his fingers around it. I think I managed to slur some semblance of a word, a “Sir” or a “yes” or a “please.” And then, there he was, his mouth at my throat, his chest pressed to mine, his fingers digging into my hips as he buried himself inside me so deep there seemed no room for anything else in the world but him.

His eyes were stars burning in the sky as he rose above me, steering certain and drowning me in the wake of his roll and retreat, roll and retreat. My hands hooked to claws around the cords that held my wrists, their knotted satin a sorry substitute for the ruddy silk of his skin. He grinned at my frustration, tasted my curses again and again as the whirlpool swirled a lazy undertow around us. He was straining and sweating at the end, his brow furrowed dark as he beckoned me forward, showed me the depths opening beneath us, urged me to plumb their treasures at his side. His palms slid up the damp skin of my arms, his fingers curled mercifully around my own. Then, with his teeth sunk into my shoulder and my grateful sigh echoing in his ear, we dove as one into the darkness, certain as we ever were that the ground that would eventually catch us was solid, safe, and big enough for two.

I was unbound and buried under blankets when I blinked my eyes open on the aftermath, giggling at the sight of my husband washed ashore beside me. His curls glistened in the lamplight, silvery streaks of perspiration drying at his temples, above his upper lip. His smile was sleepy and satisfied, his fingers gently rubbing the fading rings at my wrists and I scooted closer, tangling my legs through his beneath the sheets.

“Feeling better?” he asked, a hint of gravel in his voice as he pressed a kiss to my fingertips.

“Much,” I nodded, wincing a little at the drunken slosh of my brain in my skull, “much better.”

“Have some,” he snagged the bottle of water from the bedside, taking a tug after watching me guzzle a deep draught of my own. “There we are, love, think you can sleep?”

“I think so,” I nodded again, my answer made ridiculous by the head-splitting yawn I spoke through to give it. He laughed, settling into his pillow and wrapping an arm around my shoulders as I pillowed my head on his chest. I chewed on my lower lip as he reached to turn off the lamp, my fingers plucking absently at the hair on his chest. “Tom?”

“Yes, beauty?” he asked, his voice like warm honey.

“It was an amazing summer.”

“It was,” he agreed, his own fingers finding and fondling the tiny padlock that held my collar in place at the back of my neck. “You ready for foggy old London again?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I nodded, shifting as his hand waved away the strands of my hair tickling his nose. “I miss your mum… Emma… think they’ll be up for dinner next week?”

“I’ll honestly be shocked if they’re not waiting at the airport,” he chuckled. “They’ve only asked a million times if Jack’s as big as he looks in the pictures.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” I smiled. “It’s nice to have family.”

His hand gave my collar a gentle tug, his lips pressed against the top of my head. “It most certainly is.”

We lay in silence a few long moments, his heart slowing to a hypnotic legato beneath my ear.

“Tom?”

Another weary chuckle. “Yes, little one?”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, my darling,” his other arm joined its twin, circling me and holding me close, “you don’t have to thank me.”

“But I want to.”

“Well, sweetheart, you’re welcome. And thank _you_ … none of this is anything without you.”

“That’s true,” I sniffed, yelping a bit when he stretched to swat my backside. “Ow!”

“Close your eyes, motormouth. Tomorrow is going to be quite a long day.”

“I don’t mind,” I repeated, burrowing into him, “we’re going home.”

I could hear him swallow hard, could hear the minute break in his voice.

“I love you, Michelle.”

“I love you, Sir.”

Another tiny tug on my collar.

“Yours, Sir. Forever and always.”


	41. Chapter 41

The outline of our country home set against the star-sequined blue of the night sky was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever laid eyes on, and I leaned back against my headrest, sighing in relief at the sight of it. It seemed an eternity since we’d stumbled, bleary eyed, into the early morning Carolina dark; at last, my weary bunch was buckled into the back seat of a hired car, trundling home from Heathrow. I’d spent most of the flight poking and prodding an already over-edited chapter while Heartbreaker and Heartbreaker Jr. bantered and bottle-fed and eventually dozed off next to their window in first class; we were barely halfway across the Atlantic before the starry-eyed attendants were sick of me shushing and shooing them on, lest my little wailer wake to sing another chorus of his favorite song, “I Have Absolutely No Idea What I Want,” to the otherwise calm and quiet cabin.

That same little screamer was tucked into his carseat, babbling to his naked toes, when we finally came to a stop in front of our door. I collected the socks and shoes he’d hurled to the floor and stuffed them into my purse, slinging the strap over my shoulder before unfastening his harness and lifting him into my arms. Tom, tired but ever gracious, was chatting lengthy thanks to the driver as they unloaded our bags from the trunk. Thankfully, he was alert enough to drop what he was doing when Jack joyfully hurled Squeaker into the air, catching the plush before it disappeared somewhere down the darkened driveway. My left hand was full with the handle`of the diaper bag, Jack’s pacifier, and the hat he’d just yanked off his head, my right was struggling to grope my house key from the tangle of others on my ring; with a wry grin and a shrug, Tom tucked the poor penguin into the cleavage of my sweater. Jack clapped his hands and giggled in delight before resting his cheek against his battered buddy, and I blew my bangs off my forehead as I dragged all and sundry up the few front steps.

After grappling a moment with my slightly bent key, we burst through the door in comical fashion, dropping what we held here, there, and everywhere in our scramble to switch on some lights and deactivate the alarm. I set Jack down on his diapered rump with a haggard sigh as Tom turned to haul in the rest of our luggage; he promptly wriggled to all fours and scooted across the entry, overjoyed at the freedom he’d found.

“Hey, you,” I growled as I knelt to scoop the spilled contents of my purse back into its leather belly, “don’t you go far.” Blonde curls fluttered as he turned to look at me, his blue eyes sparkling mischief over his shoulder, and he squealed before motoring ever faster towards the kitchen. “Brat,” I chortled under my breath, glancing over my own shoulder to make certain no hair ties or lip balm or stray coins remained rolled across the polished hardwood. A plain white envelope lay a few inches from my foot, not far from the mail slot, and I picked it up, inspecting its unmarked front and back with a furrowed brow. “Tom? Did H&H say anything about dropping something off?”

Tom let our suitcases whump unceremoniously to the floor, raking his fingers through his hair as he kicked the front door closed. “No,” he mused through a yawn as he snapped the deadbolts, “though I’m certain there’s a fair bit waiting in the P.O. box…”

“Tomorrow,” I groaned, straightening up and tucking the envelope into the back pocket of my jeans before pressing my hands to the base of my spine, “and tomorrow, and tomorrow, for thy lady be too fucking tired tonight.”

“My little love,” he cooed, crossing to wrap his arms around me, anchoring me as I arched back, pulling me against him as my spine crackled with the stretch. “You didn’t sleep at all?”

“Eh, a little,” I shrugged, shooting my laptop the evil eye. “Richard’s about to whisk you away.”

“Oh,” he nodded in understanding, “but we found each other again after...”

“Mmm-hmm,” I hummed into his kiss, rising onto my tiptoes and winding my arms around his neck.

“Mmm-hmm,” he echoed, swaying me a bit from side to side on my tiptoes. “What did you do with the boy?”

“In the kitchen,” I yawned. “He said he’d make dinner.”

“Cruel Mummy,” Tom kissed me again, “I told you we could order in…”

A loud metallic crash echoed through the house, punctuated by a hiccupping chuckle of satisfaction, and Tom and I laughed into each other’s mouths.

An hour later, Jack was asleep at the foot of our bed, his belly full of milk and macaroni, his arms wrapped tight around his penguin pal. I was dozing in my cardigan, having only found enough strength to kick off my shoes and strip off my jeans while Tom called in our order for pizza and pasta. He’d threatened to make me answer the door for the delivery in such a state, then yanked me off my feet and tossed me back to the bed when I rose to his challenge, hopping up and shuffling across the floor at the sound of the doorbell. We didn’t even bother to move the food to plates, eating directly from the containers with plastic silverware and feeding Jack by hand, and I collapsed against my pillow as soon as we were done. Tom polished off my half-finished glass of wine as he collected our rubbish and ferried it to the bin, then lifted our sleeping son, bringing him to me for goodnight kisses.

“Sleep in tomorrow, little shit,” I whispered against his forehead, breathing in his fading baby scent, “and Mummy will make Daddy buy you a pony.”

“Mummy mispronounced ‘puppy’,” Tom snickered softly before standing straight once more. “Say ‘night-night, Mummy’…”

“Night-night, baby,” I yawned, smiling at my husband as he carried our boy to his room. A symphony of ordinary sounds drifted through the monitor: Velcro tear-tabs on a wet diaper, snaps clicking closed on a clean footie sleeper, Jack’s soft, dreamy sigh as his father lay him carefully in his crib, the rustle as he tucked a blanket around his little body before tapping the button on his sleepy time singer and filling the room with a tinkling lullaby. I hadn’t realized I’d drifted off until the warm, solid planes of Tom’s naked body settled against mine, his kiss burning my lips with an ardor surprising after such a long day.

“Too tired for this?” he asked quietly, his fingers plucking the buttons of my sweater open, one after the other after the other.

“Never,” I purred, twisting a little so he could slide the fabric off my shoulders.

“Really?” His laughter held a tinge of sweet regret. “Your eyelids are so heavy you can’t even open them.”

“My eyes don’t need to be open for you to use the rest of me, Sir…”

“Jesus, Michelle,” he rumbled, his fingers dragging the straps of my bra down my arms as well, “why can’t you say things like that when you’re awake?”

“I’m getting better,” I pouted, moaning in disgruntled desire as he flipped me gently onto my stomach, pulling my lower half up onto my knees.

“You’re certain?” he asked, breathless, his cock hot and hard in the cleft of my ass.

“Please,” I whimpered, rubbing against him so he could feel how warm and wet I was, how warm and wet the mere thought of him always left me. “Use me, Sir… take what you need.”

His groan of relief as he sank, slow and deep, washed over me like a warm summer shower. I curled my arms around my pillow, hugging it to my cheek, and clenched my muscles around him in welcome.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he muttered low in this throat, pushing against me, pulling me back. “So wonderfully wet, so deliciously tight… _Christ_ , little vixen, what a wicked temptation you are.”

“Sir,” I sighed, dreamy, drunk on fatigue and searing sensation, “ohhhhh, yes… _Siiiiiiiir_...”

He took his time, undulating unhurried in and out, in and out. The heat of him seeped into me as he ran his palms over the curves of my ass, up along my waist and ribcage, down the slope of my spine. My braid slipped aside as he pumped forward again and again, and he leaned over to scrape his teeth along the angles of my shoulder blades, drew angel wings on my skin with the tip of his tongue. Reality swirled into dream and back again, and I could feel his fingers digging into my hips, his breath dusting over me with every hungry grunt and growl.

“Sir…?”

“Yes, little one,” his nod vibrated through his body into mine, “I’m close.”

“May I come too, please?”

“My good girl,” he twisted my braid around his fist, pulled me firmly up against him. “Of course you can. Use your fingers… not too fast…”

I slid my hand between my legs, rubbing light and teasing circles around my clit as he drove himself higher and higher, and then reached further down to cup and caress his balls. His hiss of surprise was a thrill, as was the sharp, unexpected tug he gave my hair.

“God _dammit_ , Michelle, where did _that_ come from?”

I didn’t have an answer, even if my sleepy tongue hadn’t been lying heavy and thick in my mouth. Lost in ecstasy, Tom didn’t seem to notice, thrusting up harder, faster. His other hand took the place of mine, and I shuddered in his embrace as he caught my clitoris between his fingers, tugging and twisting to the rhythm of his heart pounding against my back. I turned my face to his, panted softly against the corner of his jaw.

“Now, Sir? Please?”

“Nearly,” he snarled, twisting his hips, his teeth bared. “Nearly… fuck… now, Michelle, _now…”_

His arms snaked around me, holding me tight as we crested the final hurtle, and I dangled limp as a rag doll, shaking and smiling until we collapsed in a heap, both so spent there was barely time to pull up the covers before the darkness descended, warm and welcome.

The sun was shining through the cracks in the curtains when I opened my eyes the following morning, the sheets beside me cool to the touch. I grabbed Tom’s pillow and pulled it over my face, inhaling his scent through a long, lazy yawn before tossing it back to his empty spot. I scraped my nails over my scalp as I stretched from head to toe, then sat up to try and untangle the mess my braid had become. I was promptly greeted by a bright and cheery “ba ba ba ba!”, Jack’s little feet kicking enthusiastically at the sight of me as he bounced in his swing at the foot of the bed.

“Hey, you,” I grinned, grabbing my robe from where it was draped over the headboard and pulling it on before rising, crossing the room and lifting him to my hip. “Good morning, Sprout, got a kiss for Mummy?” Pushing out his bottom lip, Jack put his face close to mine, and I rubbed his back as I sprinkled little pecks all over his face.

The bathroom door opened behind me and Tom emerged in a billow of fragrant steam, a towel wound around his hips, his curls dripping down his neck. Jack gasped and spread his arms in excitement.

“Dada!”

“Jack-Jack,” Tom smiled, leaning in to nuzzle the baby before caressing my lips with his own. “Morning, darling.”

“How the hell long have you been up?” I slipped a finger under the edge of his wrap, savoring the brief hitch of his stomach at my touch.

“Captain Sunshine there rang the breakfast bell at five,” he replied, shaking his head and sending a spray of droplets over us both and making us squeal in harmony. “So we had a bottle and some cereal and a little spot of coffee…”

“You did not give him coffee,” I scoffed, my eyes widening when his expression didn’t change. “Tom! You didn’t!”

“Just a little,” he quipped, pulling his towel off and snapping it lightly at my backside before flipping it over his shoulder, offering me a delicious view of his own taut and toned ass before stepping into a snug pair of black cotton boxers. “A sip from the old man’s cup when it’d gone cold enough.”

“You are _so_ wrangling him at naptime if he doesn’t want to go down,” I shook my head as he finished dressing, bending to pick up the teething beads that Jack was reaching for with a flapping fist. He tucked them into his mouth and began to munch as Tom held out his arms.

“No worries, love,” he reassured me. “After brekkie, he went with Daddy on a run, and we stopped at the pond and did some push-ups, and now,” he tossed the boy into the air, then burrowed into his belly after catching him again, “he’s going to come with Daddy to the grocery and the post office… maybe swing past that pet shop in Primrose Hill…”

“You are really stuck on this puppy thing,” I mused, turning my attention back to my tangled hair. “Give me a bit to clean up, I’ll come with…”

“Nope,” Tom propped Jack on his hip. “Mummy’s job today,” he curled a gentle hand around my neck and pulled me in for another kiss, “is to take a nice, hot bath, to nap through any lingering jet lag, to unpack, and to call her silly sister-in-law and start planning Sunday dinner. After we’re home and supplies tucked away, we’re going to have a nice quiet night, just the three of us. We’re going to have a little Chinese from that place you love on Newport,” he chuckled a little as I clapped my hands in approval, “we’re going to cuddle in front of something Disney. And after this little one is down for the count,” he jostled a gurgling giggle out of Jack, “I’m going to wring _this_ little one out,” he passed a lascivious caress over my ass, “just the way she likes.”

“Have I told you today how much I love you?” I fluttered my lashes at him, pressed my lips to the growing sandpaper scruff on his cheek.

“Don’t fawn too much too soon, darling,” he warned, tapping a finger to the tip of my nose. “It’s all to get you fighting fit and back to work tomorrow. Difficult stuff to slog through, I know, so best to just soldier on, eh?”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, ducking my head and glowering at him through the fringe of my bangs.

“Don’t pout,” he admonished, swatting my backside and kissing my forehead. “We survived it, we’re thriving in the wake of it, you can write it and be done with it…” his voice lowered as his finger slid under my chin and nudged it firmly higher. “Yes?”

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded, sighing against his cheek when he leaned in to kiss me once more.

“My good girl.”

I was neck deep in steaming bubbles when my fellas popped in to kiss me good-bye, Jack waving gleefully over his father’s shoulder as Tom pulled the bathroom door closed. I finally managed to work all of the snarls and tangles out of my hair, fell down a few internet rabbit holes on my phone, and finally emerged from the lukewarm water with puckered skin and a growling stomach. I wriggled into an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of frayed but oh-so-comfortable leggings, and jogged down the stairs to lunch on the pizza left over from the night before.

I had just finished making the bed and was collecting our discarded clothes when the forgotten envelope I’d shoved into my pocket slipped free and fluttered to the floor. I picked it up, frowning once again at its blank, anonymous surface; after dropping our laundry in the hamper, I tucked one leg underneath me and sat on the edge of the bed, tearing the flap open. The pages inside were plain, pale pink stationary I recognized at once, even before I saw the elegant script.

_Sissy –_

_Before you read further, you must make me a promise. And yes, it counts, even though I’m not there; if you keep reading, I’ll make you keep it:_

_Don’t kill me._

I could hear her voice in my head as if she were reading to me, the nail of my thumb finding its way between my teeth. She talked about his offers that were coming in from all corners of the world and hers that just… weren’t. She confided the insecurity and hurt I’d often suspected was there, hidden so well by her sunny smile and effervescent manner. She described days of distance, a reunion of enthusiastic sex. And afterwards, tension thick enough to carve with a knife, a screaming match that climaxed in his question, her affront at his asking it when he clearly didn’t mean it. Then came the girlishly detailed description of the unspeakably beautiful ring he’d fetched from his jacket and slammed onto the table between them.

“Been carrying it around a month now, Em. How’s THAT for not meaning it?”

I laughed through tears as I read about the hugs and the kisses and the conversations that came after, the anxieties of where to live, of whom to tell first, the “what will they say” and the “what should we do” and the “where on Earth can we even make this happen?”

_Well, we’ve decided that the best way to start our life together is to just start our life together, to just touch, and go. So, darling sissy, remember the promise you made. Because by the time you read this, I’ll already be Mrs. Christopher Robert Evans, having taking my vows at sunrise on Runaway Beach in Antigua…how perfect is that?!? I know I should beg your forgiveness for jumping so fast, for not inviting you and Tom and that gorgeous boy to be a part, but somehow, I think you’ll understand._

_So that’s it, then! An old married lady, can you believe it? Hasn’t happened yet, takeoff itself isn’t for another six hours. We miss you so much, and I’ll miss you more, you and Tom and Jack and Mum and Dad and Sarah, I know I will, but Michelle, I know.. I just KNOW… I’m doing right. Because it isn’t for you, or Tom, or even sweet sweet little Sprout. I love you all, as much as ever, more and more even, But for the first time in a long time, this is something I’m doing for me. And Him, of course. At last, my Him, with a capital “H”!_

_I love him, Sissy, I love him so much. And, of course, the big lug is mad about me._

I was crying so hard by the time I reached her signature, her full married name written in flowing cursive that glowed with happiness, that I nearly missed her post script at the bottom of the page.

_Oh, and by the way, if you think I won’t be exploding with all this as soon as it’s done, you don’t really know me at all. So if the health and welfare of my new hubby means anything to you, you might want to keep an eye on the post. My dress, MY RING!!, the beach at sunrise, my gorgeous groom… I want you to see it all as soon as possible. Perhaps you should check the mail for a bit instead of my brother dear?_

“Oh, shit,” the letter dropped to my lap as I recalled the list of Tom’s planned chores, “oh… _shit_...”

I spent the rest of the afternoon with one nervous eye on my cell phone waiting for the ring, for Tom’s voice to thunder through the speaker - “You are NEVER going to believe what my sister’s gone and done…” – but the only things to come through were a few texts from Diana and James welcoming us home and about half a dozen selfies Tom snapped of himself and Jack. A man and his boy out on the town, they were clearly having a blast, bright eyes and rosy cheeks and huge toothy grins. The tug in my gut at the sight of them made me wonder, not for the first time, how Emma survived missing the child she’d carried and labored into the world, and then given over without hesitation.

_Christopher Robert Evans_ , her voice giggled in my brain, _that’s how_.

The laundry was more than halfway done and the suitcases were tucked neatly in the upstairs closet when the Forester’s headlights splashed through the front window, and I scrambled up from my spot on the sofa. I opened the front door and bounded down the steps to see Tom emerging from the driver’s seat, a large box of grocery bags flanked by two impressive stacks of mail cradled in his arms.

“Hey, handsome,” I smiled, hooking my fingers into the handles on the sides, “let me get that, you get the boy.”

“No, no, no,” he chuckled wryly, “I’ll take this, _you_ get the boy.” He turned his gaze upward to his tousled curls. “You like the hair pulling, and frankly, I’m not sure my hairline can handle one more tug.”

“Oh…” I forced a little laugh, “okay.” I watched him head inside as I crawled into the back seat. Jack screeched in delight when he saw me, his arms wide and hands grabbing, and I took a moment to nuzzle kisses into his neck before easing us both out of the car. “Sir? Why does this baby smell like cotton candy?”

“I’m certain I don’t have any idea,” Tom grinned as he jogged past me to open the back hatch, snagging more bags from the market.

“Uh-huh,” I narrowed my eyes at him before resting my forehead against my son’s. “Jack, I think your daddy is a dirty rotten liar.”

My plan had been to tuck Jack in his chair with a snack and a toy and then casually snag the mail and find Emma’s parcel before Tom could even notice it. Unfortunately, my little man had a plan of his own, and the way he was rooting furiously against his fist told me he would not be bought off so easily.

“Really, Sprout?” I groaned a little. “Now?”

“Nurse him, darling,” Tom rubbed a hand down my back as he passed me once more. “You were in mourning all day yesterday that he seemed to be losing interest… you two tuck in, I can handle this.”

Sighing in resignation, I rounded the sofa and plopped into the corner, wiggling out of one half of my sweatshirt. Jack settled almost immediately, curled into his favorite cross-body position, and I couldn’t help but smile at the relief of the letdown that accompanied his small, sucking mouth. His long little fingers curled around mine and I rocked him, humming softly as he stared up at me in the silent fascination I’d come to adore.

Twenty minutes later, he’d had his fill, and I straightened my clothes before setting him down in his playscape, making sure Squeaker and several other favorite toys were in easy reach. He was happily bashing two plastic cars together by the time I joined Tom in the kitchen to help unpack his haul. He was nearly done, and I sighed in relief when I saw that the box with the mail still sat undisturbed behind him on the counter.

“Thank you again for running the errands,” I sidled closer to him, plucking a few canned goods from the bag he was emptying. “It was nice to have some time to myself.”

“You’re welcome,” he dropped a sweet peck to my lips. “Charlene sends her love, by the way.”

My brow twisted in confusion as I tucked the tins into the cupboard. “What were you doing at my salon?”

Tom shot me a lascivious grin, reaching into another bag and tossing me a small bottle of essential oil we both enjoyed using during anal play.

“We were running low,” he purred, “and I have plans for my little princess tonight.”

_Ohh… oh, dear God…_

The visuals that sprang to mind were almost enough to distract me from the task at hand, but I swallowed hard, shook my head to clear it, then watched my husband glide back and forth in front of my target, never enough out of the way for me to successfully move past him. Finally, I just gave up and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my cheek against the plane between his shoulder blades.

“Hello there, darling,” he lifted one of my hands to his lips before turning in my embrace. “Nice to be home, eh?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I nodded, gazing innocently up at him as I hooked a finger into the box and tugged it a little closer.

“I got an extra order of those crispy dumplings you love,” he nuzzled his nose against mine, “ and I was thinking we could try Jack on the cold noodles.”

“Oh, I bet he’ll love them,” I nodded, nipping playfully at his lips as I ran my fingers along the edges of the envelopes, trying to discern by touch which might be the one I wanted.

“What should we watch, do you think? Something colorful, not too dark or scary?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I scrunched my brow as I groped along the lines of what I thought might be the best candidate in my search so far. “He always loves Pooh… or those Sing Along Songs your mum found…”

“They might be just perfect…”

I closed my eyes as Tom leaned closer, bending me back as his tongue slid between my lips. I squeaked a little, pinching the envelope and tugging it askew, afraid I might lose my grip on it completely. His body was so warm against mine, his kiss insistent, his hands moving so sure, so possessive, over the curves of my ass, up past my waist. Then, all at once, his mouth broke from mine and his touch skittered along my arm, his fingers closing over my hand and the parcel together.

“All right, little sneak, just what are you up to back there?”

I turtled into myself, offering him a guilty smile as he pulled my arm and the envelope around in front of him.

“I… there’s… I was…”

“What’s this?” Tom plucked the letter from my fingers, turning it over and frowning a little at the postmark. “What is Emma doing in Antigua?”

He slipped his thumb under the flap, but I wrapped my fingers around his wrists, squeezing them gently.

“I can tell you, Sir,” I looked up at him, pleading with him silently with my eyes, “just please… please don’t open this yet.”

The furrows in his brow deepened as I tugged him towards the kitchen table, nudged him down into his chair. He held onto the envelope a moment longer, then lay it down on the placemat in front of him. I kissed his forehead, then hurried into the other room to fetch Emma’s letter from where I’d shoved it between the sofa cushions. Jack had lost interest in his cars and was lying on his back, feeding Squeaker an alphabet block and babbling a little sing-song; I paused to ruffle a hand through his curls before returning to Tom’s side.

I sank into my own chair, smiling gently at his expectant expression as I slid the envelope across the table to him. He pulled the pink pages free and pressed them flat and then, inhaling deeply through his nostrils, he started to read. I watched his eyes narrow, the corners of his mouth turning down as he passed a hand over the scruff dusting his upper lip and chin. He cleared his throat a time or two, sniffed audibly as he turned from the first page to the second, rubbed his fingers over his throat as he continued reading.

As he did, I tore the other envelope open and pulled the contents free, a single piece of plain white paper wrapped around a dozen pictures.

_Well begun, and now it’s done, and neither of us could be happier. He wanted to shave, I begged him not to; it’s my wedding, after all. The officiant brought her daughters and granddaughter to witness; other than that, we’ve been blissfully alone. I called Mum, and she cried, made me promise to bring him ‘round first thing Sunday morning, promised me she’d keep the secret from Dad. I’ll ring Sarah after – I can already hear her eyes rolling!_

_Can’t wait to see you, can’t wait to smother that boy with kisses, GOD I miss him so. Can’t wait to show Tom how happy Chris makes me… there’ll be a handshake, don’t you think? Maybe even a hug?_

_Tom… if you’re reading… don’t be mad, okay? He’s learned to load the infuser and he can always find my other slipper and he never forgets to put the vinyls back in their sleeves. He’ll learn the rest; he’s got a fantastic teacher, after all. And if he makes me half as happy as you make Michelle, that’s a hundred times better than any other man could do._

_I love you, Tommy, and I love him, too. Please be happy for me…_

The squeak of his chair as Tom leaned back a bit pulled my eyes from the page; his clouded but quiet gaze met mine as I passed the second letter over. I held the stack of photos in check until he’d read it as well, and when he looked at me again through a thin veil of tears, I stood up, moved into his lap. He hooked his chin into the crook of my shoulder, and we turned our attention to the snapshots together.

The first, just their hands, simple shining platinum bands, her engagement ring a delicate circle of baguette-crusted latticework boasting a sparkling pink sapphire at the center. The second, Emma, tawny and tan with Antigua coneflowers in her hair, an empire waist sundress of billowing silk hanging to her toes, the skirt streaked with every color of the rainbow. Chris was her perfect casual groom in linen trousers and jacket the shade of clean sand, his white cotton shirt open at the neck beneath his thick, tidy beard. A picture of them holding hands, a picture of them kissing.

The last one she included as an afterthought, I’m sure: a shot of the blushing bride kneeling in front of the six or seven year old girl to tuck a flower from her bouquet into the tight ebony curls behind the child’s ear while the new husband, officiant, and witnesses looked on. I could feel Tom’s chest shift against my back, could hear his gasp as he took the photograph from my fingers. I turned to him, chewing on my bottom lip.

“Tom?”

His eyes were wide, soft, full of a calm and peaceful light. The lines had faded from his brow, from the corners of his mouth, and his lips were curling in a small smile.

“Well,” he sighed, his gaze never leaving the picture. “There it is.” He exhaled a shaky chuckle. “That’s it, then.”

“That’s it?” I asked, hopeful. “You… you’re okay?”

“Well, I’d like to crack her one for pond-jumping… you know as well as I do that Mum would have loved to have been next to her, that Dad would have wanted to give her away…”

“Understandable,” I ran my hand over his hair. “And what of the lucky mister?” I nudged him gently with my shoulder. "Is he going to need that shield the next time they come around?”

Tom’s stare lingered on the photo a moment longer. “No,” he sighed at last. “No. I’m satisfied.”

“Just like that?” I probed, suspicious. “Almost a year of tense teasing and heavy sighs, but now, you’re okay?”

“I am,” he nodded, his hand caressing the curve of my backside before smacking it and making me yelp in surprise. “Except for the fact that I’m starving and our food is getting cold. Up with you now, go get the lad.”

“No, wait, wait,” I stumbled to my feet, a little dumbfounded as he gathered plates and napkins and the warm white bags that held our dinner. “I don’t get… how…” I glanced down at the picture, then back at him. “What am I missing?”

“It’s really very simple, darling,” he smiled, tapping Chris’ shoulder in the photo with the tip of a chopstick. “I know that look.”

“That look?” I squinted a bit at Evan’s expression, and while his wide, shining eyes and broad happy grin exuded fulfillment, I still couldn’t help but think I was missing something. “I… I’m sorry, Sir, I still don’t get it.”

“I know that look,” Tom repeated. “I’ve seen it before. That, my sweet, is the look of man who himself is looking at the only thing in the world that matters to him, the one thing in the world he can’t live without.” He nuzzled my cheek, kissed my lips. “Now, if you’re done mooning, our boy would like to get his Tigger on.”

The food was delicious, as it always was, Christopher Robin settled his woodland friends as he always did, and I enjoyed all of it the best way a person could: cuddled in my husband’s arms with our son perched proudly in our laps. He devoured the noodles and the warm chicken broth, stole fingerfuls from both my plate and Tom’s, his face was covered with the powdered sugar from the sweet biscuits when we bid the Hundred Acre Wood goodnight at last. Tom urged me upstairs to give him a bath, promising to join me in just a short while. We were halfway down the hall, trading sticky kisses, when Jack’s chubby little hand shot out, his index finger pointing excitedly.

“Dada,” he squealed, “Dada Dada Dada!”

“That’s right, Sprout,” I walked him closer to the picture in its frame, Tom studying a script in a director’s chair on the set of Kong: Skull Island. “That’s Dada!” I walked him to the next, a snap of Tom and Sarah washing dishes in Diana’s kitchen. “And who’s that?”

“Dada!”

“That’s right, good boy!” We continued on down the hall. “And that’s Nana and that’s your Grandpa Jack and that’s Auntie Eleni and there’s Rocket and… who’s that?”

“Dada!” Jack shrieked and clapped his hands.

“Such a smart boy,” I laughed, cuddling him close. “And this one, that’s Russel and that’s Denny and there’s Auntie Emmy and that’s Mummy, and that’s…” I froze, my jaw hanging slightly agape as my son continued to babble in my ear.

“Dada!” he chuckled, bouncing in my arms. “Dada Dada Dada!”

It was Tom, indeed, the photo taken at a birthday party he and friends had thrown for me the year before Jack was born. My attention was on my friends as we laughed at one thing or another, Emma’s hand in mine as if we were holding each other upright.

Tom, though. Tom was looking at me. The same way that Chris had been looking at Emma.

“Dada,” Jack repeated through a yawn, laying his head against my shoulder, his little fingers finding and twisting my collar.

“That’s right, baby,” I whispered, shivering, blinking back the tears welling in my eyes. “That’s your Dada.”

“Everything all right up there?” Tom appeared at the foot of the stairs, a dishtowel draped over one shoulder. “Get lost on the way to the bathtub?”

“No,” I giggled, rubbing the baby’s back as he yawned once more and rubbed at his eyes. “Just walking the boy down memory lane.”

“Hmm,” Tom grinned, a bit confused, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at me. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded, smiling. “Much, much better than all right.”

“Good,” he waved his hands in a shooing gesture before returning to the kitchen, “get a move on, then. That boy needs his bed and his father wants his mother, more than she might know.”

“Maybe,” I murmured into Jack’s silky curls, stealing one long, last look at his face in the picture before continuing down the hall, “but she’s learning.”


	42. Chapter 42

Chris and Emma’s elopement was an oddly perfect note upon which to end the sweet symphony of our summer.

Their welcome home was an impromptu reception at Tom’s mother’s house, a noisy affair filled with flowers, food, and free-flowing champagne. Chris was adorably awkward at first, clinging to Emma’s hand as she dragged him over to greet his new in-laws and accept their blessing. Diana was beaming through tears, and I can’t imagine James was all that intimidating with my son babbling away on his hip; it was only a moment or two before the group was embracing, Jack stretching from his grandfather’s arms, reaching for his new uncle.

Then it was our turn, Tom’s hand tightening briefly on my waist as Emma tiptoed closer, Chris and Jack in tow behind her. Chris busied himself untangling Jack’s grip from his beard as I hugged her close, whispering congratulations into her hair.

“Relax.  You know he’ll let him twist a bit…” I murmured.

“Of course,” Emma giggled, “and he’ll be fine. He’s got the cutest human shield ever...”

She moved on to accept hugs and kisses from Tom as I wrapped my arms around Chris and Jack together.

“Congratulations, Cap,” I kissed his cheek. “And for the record? I’m not nearly as surprised as she thinks I am.”

“Really?” he winced a little. “So… you don’t think it’s too fast?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You know, a very wise man once told me: just because something happens fast doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

“Ha!” Chris scoffed. “You should keep in touch with that guy.”

“Oh, I did much better,” I winked. “Now,” tucking my hair behind my ears, I reached for Jack, “gimme my kid.”

“No no no,” he hissed as I lifted the boy to my shoulder, “I need that! He won’t deck me if I have that!”

“Oh, go on, don’t be a chicken...”

Emma hooked her arm through mine and scuttled me and Jack to the kitchen to give our men some privacy, stroking the baby’s curls as he buried his face in my neck, giggling shyly.

“He’s grown so much, I can’t believe it, Michelle, and oh God,” she cast her eyes to the ceiling, refusing to turn around, “please tell me he’s not reaming my husband to hell and back...”

“Em, relax,” I kissed Jack’s temple before reaching for a glass of champagne. I handed it to her, then took up one of my own. “Have a little faith.” We touched glasses and drank deeply, watching as Chris and Tom spoke, heads bent close together. There was nodding, then a handshake. When the handshake turned into a hug, I bounced Jack on my hip with an enthusiastic “Yay!” and laughing when he picked up the sentiment, clapping his hands and squealing through his toothy grin.

Two days later, Chris whisked Emma to Boston, and Tom and I settled into our own quiet routine. He’d taken to running earlier than usual and would wake me on his return, crawling back between the sheets smelling of early autumn wind and clean, musky sweat.

Sometimes we would chat and kiss and cuddle until Jack’s sleepy morning banter bubbled from the bedside monitor. Sometimes he would tangle his fingers through mine, quirking an arrogant eyebrow as he dragged my arms up over my head. Gazing into my eyes and breathing steadily into my mouth, he’d push inside me, fucking me slow and deep, edging me with practiced expertise until my blood was thrumming beneath my skin. I’d whimper and beg and plead as sweetly as I could, but he would always shake his head, pulling out and stroking his cock to decorate my breasts and belly with his come.

I’d pout at his back as he headed for the shower, but the truth was, it worked. I’d crawl out of bed feeling awake and alive and head into Jack’s room to fetch him from his crib. The morning he threw his arms up and exclaimed, “Mummy!” my knees went weak; I had to explain to Tom ten minutes later why I was sitting on the nursery floor, sobbing with our son in my arms.

We’d breakfast together, Jack and I singing to the morning cartoons while Tom sipped coffee and read the paper. I loved watching him when he wasn’t looking, adjusting his glasses on his nose, absently stroking the whiskers he’d stopped shaving once the weather cooled.

It occurred to me once or twice to ask how long we would have him, and when would we have to brace for his plunge back into work. He would answer with a wink and a smile, promising me that I would know as soon as he did. I’d open my mouth to inquire further, but he would always cut me off, redirecting me to my own deadlines and shooing me to the study.

I can’t say it was pleasant, recounting our separation and struggles, but it certainly was cathartic. A kind of cleansing made so much easier by Tom’s constant calm presence. He’d pop in and out without me noticing; I’d simply realize that, at some point, the coffee in my mug had turned to tea, that there were carrot sticks and apple slices to munch, that the afternoon glare was suddenly cut by closed blinds.  I’d pause in my writing every now and again to wipe my eyes or stretch my back, arching and swiveling in my chair. I’d listen with a smile to the noises drifting from the living room: the stories Tom would read, his “vroom-vroom”  as they raced toy cars or his “chug-chug-chug” as they pushed toy trains, Jack’s shrieks and giggles and babbling, punctuated more and more with recognizable words.

I’d emerge to find them in the kitchen, Jack’s highchair pulled close to wherever Tom happened to be. Hovering in the doorway, I’d watch their father-son banter until Jack would catch sight of me and crow “Mummy Mummy Mummy,” at the top of his lungs. I’d help my men finish preparing dinner, then listen to them recount their play of the day as we ate.

And after all was said and done and the baby tucked in and dreaming, Tom would usher me into the bedroom, dim the lights, peel away our clothes. He would sit in the center of the bed, his back against the headboard, and guide me into his lap. My back to his chest, his hands on my breasts and between my legs, he would hook his chin over my shoulder and growl softly into my ear.

Asking questions about the things I’d written, about the things they’d made me think, the things they’d made me feel. Slow thrusts that rocked up into me pushed the answers from my lips, keeping my over-eager body on the edge as he stroked and strummed and set me on fire.

“All those worries… all those doubts,” his tongue darting out to taste the perspiration beading in the hollow of my shoulder, “seem so silly now, don’t they?”

“Yes, Sir,” gasping, grabbing at his wrist as he rubbed gently over my clit, curling my fingers in his hair as I arched into his touch.

“Because you know what you are, what I am, don’t you, love? You know at well as I do. You _feel_ it in your marrow.”

“Yes, Sir,” a yelp as his teeth sank into the delicate flesh beneath my ear.

“What am I, sweet?” his fingers spreading the folds of my sex as he bucked up, harder than before. “Tell me.”

“My Dom,” a coughing, desperate sob. “You’re my Dom, my Master, my Sir… ohhhhh…. Tom...”

“And what are you?”

“Your sub, your whore, your slut, your toy...” my words dissolved into an inarticulate moan as his fingers left my nipple, slid slowly up to gently squeeze my throat.

“It’s much simpler than all that, darling,” his fingertip tapping against my pulse. “ _What are you?_ ”

“Yours, Sir,” my tongue darting out to soothe my burning lips. “Yours… yours, yours… I’m yours.”

His thumb would nudge my chin, his mouth would cover mine, and he’d swallow my screams of thankful ecstasy as his kisses and caresses and his cock would push me over the edge I’d been balanced on all day. I’d recover from the fall wrapped snugly in his arms, his soothing goodnight “I love you” echoing in my head, his release and mine warm and sticky on my thighs.

So early autumn slipped sweetly away, and before I was really ready, I found myself preparing for my son’s first birthday party.

Jack had a fondness for most of the colorful characters that danced through his storybooks or sang to him from the television screen. But his truest love, his constant companion, had always been his Squeaker. It made perfect sense, therefore, to turn our home into a penguin paradise to mark the milestone. Invitations went out on the first of November to family and friends; Tom and I were both a little overwhelmed by how many responded, all saying they’d be joining us.

We drew penguin faces with red and blue bowties and glued them onto balloons of silver and black. Tom looped white and baby blue icicle lights along the perimeter of the patio and through the trees of the backyard. Diana ordered the cake, a lopsided three tiered treat covered in bright blue frosting, decorated with tiny penguins and sparkling sugar snowflakes. My favorite detail, though, was the topper: a fondant sculpture of Jack sitting side by side with his buddy, complete with his curly golden hair and Squeaker’s fuzzy white bib over grey feathery detail.

The party was still two weeks away when we left Jack for a dinner with Nana to drive the hour and a half to Joey’s place. One of Tom’s oldest and dearest friends, he’d called a month earlier to gripe about a canine catastrophe, one that had left him and his fiancée with four furry bundles in need of good homes.

The boys were rough and tumble, nipping at each other’s ears and pouncing on our toes. But it was the smallest, the blue-eyed beauty, that Tom and I both kept coming back to, even as her brothers yapped for our attention. Soft and silky, her head and back chocolate brown trimmed with patches of caramel, her chest and paws a snowy white.

She wriggled her entire body when Tom held out his hand, scraped her pink tongue over his beard when he lifted her up for inspection. I knew he was gone when he handed her to me; she bundled herself into a ball beneath my chin, and I fell hard as well.

It physically hurt to leave her behind; we comforted ourselves with a trip to the pet supply. As we stood at the etching machine debating tag designs, Tom looked at me with a crooked brow.

“Sylvie said we could change the name, she and Joe won’t take it personal.”

“But did you see her tail wag every time we called her?” I queued up the short video I’d taken on my phone. “She could learn a new one, sure… but she looks like a ‘Samantha’, no? And I think she likes ‘Sam’, what do you think?”

He smiled, leaned over to brush a kiss to my lips. “I think _you_ like ‘Sam’,” he nuzzled my nose, “that’s good enough for me.”

“It’s not the name I’d have chosen,” I admitted, punching the letters into the machine, “but sometimes it’s not up to us. Besides, Sam’ll be easy for Jack to master.”

“You know as well as I do he’s going to call her ‘arf arf arf,’” he chuckled, “at least for starters.”

Emma was at our door bright and early that Friday morning, a bag of game and favor ideas slung over her shoulder. We were sitting at the kitchen table, Jack scribbling happily in a coloring book while Emma and I cut cardstock fish for the fishing pond, when Tom breezed in, pushing his arms through the sleeves of his coat.

"Theater business, my darlings," he sighed, kissing Jack and Emma on their foreheads before slipping his fingers under my braid, teasing my collar against the skin of my neck. "Will you survive without me a bit?"

"It won't be easy," I pouted my lip for him to nibble, "but I guess we'll manage."

"My good girl," he grinned, kissing me sweetly before letting me go. "Back before dark, call if you need."

"Theater business," Emma mused after the front door had closed behind him. "Told you what the role is yet?"

"No," I shook my head, "But I'm starting to think it' either Benedick or Macbeth, Something hes afraid to jinx by speaking too soon." I bent to grab the bright red crayon that had rolled off Jack’s tray, tousling his curls as he snatched it up and began to scrawl over the lines of yellow and green he’d already drawn. “Or… something else I was thinking,” I chewed on my lip as Emma turned curious eyes towards me. “Maybe he won’t be on the stage this time.”  
  
“Oooh, directing,” she shivered a little at the notion. “Always knew he’d want to give that a shot.”  
  
“Well, like I said, I don’t know anything for sure.” I glued a small round magnet to my last little fish and tossed it into the pile at the center of the table. “So,” I reached for my scribbled party notes, “goldfish, obviously. Swedish fish, marshmallow snowballs. Mum found a really cute cheese roll recipe, you shape it like an igloo and you can make little penguins with black olives and carrots…”  
  
“Oreos,” Emma blurted with a grin, “they’re black and white, yeah?”  
  
“They are,” I nodded. “I have cookie cutters for the bread, I figure ham and cheese and peanut butter and jelly are festive enough as long as they’re fish-shaped. And it’s not like the kids are going to be eating the sushi anyway.”  
  
“S… sushi?” Emma asked cautiously.  
  
“Yeah,” I nodded with a smile. “Tom’s idea, said it would be nice if the adults could eat like adults and still stick with the theme.”  
  
“Yeah,” a fine sheen of perspiration appeared on her upper lip, and she wiped it away with the heel of her hand.  “Yeah, that’s a nice idea.”  
  
“That place on Lennox makes the most beautiful party trays, and the prices are really reasonable,” I pulled up the menu on my phone. “Let’s see…some Tiger, some Dragon, some Rainbow… oh my God, Em, listen to this. Specialty of the month – nigari with Ahi, Masago, avocado and cream cheese..."

Emma leapt out of her chair, dashing from the room with her hand over her mouth. Jack’s head popped up and his little lip began to quiver; I quickly plucked a handful of marshmallows from the bag I’d been decorating with and placed them in front of him.

“Hang in a bit, Sprout,” I hugged him, kissed the top of his head. “Mummy will be right back.”

I could hear her retching as I approached the guest bathroom, and I carefully pushed open the door she hadn’t fully closed.  She was spitting a bilious mouthful into the toilet, one hand tearing tissue from the roll to scrub at her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she offered me a guilty grin.

“You’re not sorry,” I crossed my arms over my chest, my lips curling in a grin of my own. “You’re pregnant.”

She blanched, her mouth groping at the air. Before she could deny it, she was heaving again, and I twisted the faucet knob to cold. I filled the cup that sat near the sink and soaked a washcloth before moving to sit beside her on the floor, leaning back against the wall until the wave passed. I offered her the glass when she straightened and she accepted, sipping slowly; I pushed her hair aside, pressing the cloth to the back of her neck.

“Better?”

“Yes, thanks,” she nodded, taking another swallow.

“You were about to say?” I nudged against her shoulder. “A stomach bug? Bad Chinese last night?”

Her eyes searched mine, looking for judgement, disappointment, disapproval. Then, all at once, her face softened, began to radiate with a wonder-struck glow.

“I am pregnant,” she admitted, dropping a hand to her stomach. “God… feels _so_ good to say it!”

“Surely you’ve said it once or twice,” I giggled, “I mean, I can’t possibly be the first person you’ve told.”

“Oh, no,” she drained her glass and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “The big lug knows, of course, and Dr. McDonough, we told Mum and Dad at dinner last week. They looked so proud, so excited,” she raked her fingers through her hair with an impatient little _harrumph_ , “I want to shout it from the rooftops!”

“How far gone?” I asked, covering the hand on her belly with my own.

“Ten weeks, best guess,” she grinned, “can you believe it?”

“Chris is excited too, I take it?” I rubbed my palm along her arm.

“Oh, yes, he’s _thrilled_ , already talking to my tummy, crossing the days off the calendar until first trimester’s done, can’t wait ‘til I’m roly-poly round and eating everything in sight.” She paused for a giggle and a sigh, her blue eyes dreamy and slightly out of focus. “Says he wishes he could have been there for the first… promises that I’ll have him for all the rest. A full starting lineup if I want, whatever that means.”

We sat in wistful silence for a moment, two, the emotional weight of her words settling about my shoulders like a heavy shawl.

“Oh, Em,” I breathed at last, blinked back tears, “I’m so sorry…”

Her head snapped around on her neck, her hand coming to rest on my cheek.

“You stop that now, right this instant,” her voice was low but full of fire. “Don’t you _dare_ say sorry, never ever _ever_! Carrying that boy was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever done, and watching you and Tom pour your love into him has been positively magical. You were meant to be parents, meant to be a family, and I helped make that happen and I will _never_ regret it, not even for a second! I loved doing it, would do it again, so I want you to put away all that worry and apology and never, _ever_ bring it out again, d’you hear me?”

“I do,” I nodded through a sniffle. “You sound like your brother.”

“You mind me then,” she admonished with a stern nod before dissolving into tittering laughter. “Oh, Michelle, no tears, no sadness. We’re going to have another baby, can you believe it? Little fingers, little toes, great big eyes and soft, soft skin…”

“Dirty diapers,” I teased, leaning into her once more, “three a.m. feedings, temper tantrums, teething…”

“But I never got so much of that!” she exclaimed, squeezing my hand and pressing it against the barely there swell of her stomach. “It’s my turn, at last, my turn! And this time, _you_ can enjoy the cuteness and the cuddles and then hand the rugrat over when it’s time to address the feedings or the fussiness.”

“I’m so glad you’re looking forward to this,” I laughed, laying my forehead against hers.

“I am, Sissy, I really am! A little bundle for me and Chris to love, a playmate for Jack…”

As if on cue, a rallying cry began to echo through the hall from the kitchen: “Mummy! Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!”

“Sounds like we need more marshmallows,” I sighed, rising to my feet and offering her my hands. “Come on, before he hollers the roof down on top of us…”

I could think of little else for the rest of the afternoon, even with the bustle of party preparation. Watching Emma as she moved through the house, her skin aglow, her lips curled in a silent, secret smile, I could feel a knot that I’d never even realized was there loosening in my chest.

It was easier somehow, filling the little takeaway bags with her at my side, listening to her prattle quietly about the toys she, Sarah and Diana were debating as gifts. And when she handed Jack back to me after showering him with goodbye kisses at the front door, it wasn’t as difficult to cuddle him to my chest as I waved to her before turning to close the door.

I was standing half-dressed in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, when Tom wrapped an arm around my waist and leaned over my shoulder to kiss my cheek.

“She told you, eh?”

I whirled on him, my eyes wide at the mischief in his smirk.

“Wait a second,” I pointed my toothbrush at him in accusation, “she told _you_?”

“Chris told me,” he snickered, moving to his own faucet to splash warm water on his face.

“ _Chris_ told you?” I spit an incredulous mouthful into the sink, planting one hand on my hip. “When?”

“Last week, same night they told Mum and Dad,” Tom pulled his t-shirt over his head and used it to wipe the droplets from his beard before tossing it into the hamper. “Thought it best I hear it from him, in case I felt like taking a swing – _ow_!” He flinched away from me before I could whack his bare shoulder with the back of my hand once more. “Michelle, what the hell?”

“Don’t you ‘what the hell’ me,” I scowled, swinging and connecting once more, albeit with a less satisfying smack. “You’ve known since _last week_ and you didn’t tell me?”

“I figured she’d want to tell you herself – _hey_!” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me close before I could hit him again, spanking me soundly through the lace of my panties. “Keep it up, brat, and I’ll bend you in half and paddle you raw!”

“How could you not tell me?” I grumbled into his chest, pouting my lip at him when he caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned my face up to his.

“What, you think you should get all the good news first, hmmm?” he teased me, scruffing his whiskers against my cheek.

“So,” I softened a little, reaching up to stroke my fingers along his jaw, “you think it’s good news?”

“Oh, Michelle, of course I do” he chuckled, nuzzling the tip of my nose. “What kind of monster do you take me for?”

“You’re not a monster,” I wriggled closer to him and tugged my wrist free from his grasp so I could wrap both arms around his waist. “It’s just… you’ve always been so protective of Emma, and I know you had… reservations… about Chris…”

“But she doesn’t,” Tom smiled, swaying me a bit in his embrace. “She never has.” A sweet, reflective light filled his eyes. “She knew what she wanted, that very first night, I think. And here, at last, she has it.”

“You Hiddlestons,” I murmured, brushing my lips against his as I spoke.

“What can I say,” he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, “when we know, we know.”

Later that night as I lay draped across his chest, sated and sore and listening to the steady whisper of his breath, my thoughts again turned to Emma. I imagined her curled against Chris in their bed, their hands clasped above her still-flat belly. I could see him nuzzling her temple, hear him whispering silly names into her hair to make her giggle.

_“You know, they say children addressed by name while still in the womb have higher than average birth weight and cranial circumference, and much higher success rates when at school.”_

_“Tom, we are not finding out the sex of this baby.”_

I pictured their furrowed brows as they discussed cribs and colors, characters and nursery themes.

_“Is this too close to the window, you think? We don’t want our little Sprout sleeping in a draft…”_

Tom’s voice turned to Emma’s as I smiled at the memories.

_“Little fingers, little toes… great big eyes… soft skin…”_

How many times that first night had we unwrapped his little limbs, counting the perfect digits as his mouth suckled rhythmically in his sleep? How many hours had I spent lost in those eyes, so like his father’s? How had it all passed so fast, and how wonderful would it be to live it again?

Filled with a happy kind of envy, I pressed a sleepy kiss to the warm skin beneath my cheek, closing my eyes at last.

The sun rose bright on the morning of the seventeenth; Tom and I crept into Jack’s room early to wake him with a quiet chorus of “Happy Birthday.” He sat up with a groggy giggle, rubbing his eyes beneath his rumpled curls, and Tom lifted him up so we could cover his cheeks with kisses.

The party was set to begin at three; we spent the morning in pajamas, playing and preparing without having to hurry. Diana arrived with the cake just after Jack conked out for his nap and we kicked things into high gear – balloons, streamers, an igloo-shaped bounce house, an inflatable sledding hill. James pulled into the driveway not long after, carrying in more trays of food; Emma and Sarah sent their men straight to the back yard to help fill the inflatable drink pools while they joined me and Diana in the kitchen.

Tom showered first; he was ruffling his damp curls with his fingers and combing his beard when I stepped out, wringing water from my hair. Black jeans, a white button down open at the collar, my favorite black cardigan hanging on the doorknob; I raised an eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, so you’re trying to kill me on our son’s first birthday?”

“Oh, my darling,” he dropped me a wink before ticking his chin towards the bedroom, “you have no idea."

Narrowing my eyes, I stuck my head out of the door and glanced around the corner, tonguing the inside of my cheek at the sight of the ensemble he’d selected for me. The cashmere sweater was perfect for the brisk, breezy weather, long and thick and heavy with a cowl neck and V-hemline. It would feel amazing against my skin above the thin lacy silk of the bra and panties he’d chosen, and the deep violet matched the stripes of the knee high socks he’d draped over my boots.

But what made my teeth sink into my lip, what made me squirm with my thighs pressed together, was the pair of snug, faded blue jeans he’d picked to complete the outfit.

“Jeans, huh?” I nodded, closing my eyes at the sound of his approach and groaning softly as he reached under my towel to palm a generous handful of my ass.

“Mmm,” he hummed, leaning in to nip the receptive flesh beneath my ear, “this is going to be such fun.”

And, in all honesty, it was. Tom left me to dress and I listened through the monitor as he woke Jack with another murmured, “Happy birthday,” rocking and soothing him through those first moments of wakeful sniffling and sobbing. By the time my hair was braided and my make-up in place, I could hear the toddler’s hearty chuckles as his father snugged the final snaps of his tuxedo-printed romper into place.

“Look at you, old boy, you look right smart, you do!” Jack squealed in delight, and I could picture Tom tossing him into the air and catching him once more before burrowing into his neck, growling playfully. “Are you ready for a party? Are you ready for a party?” I finished dressing as quickly as I could, hurrying out to meet them before they descended the stairs.

The Hemsworth’s were the first to arrive, their three little ones charging straight for the bounce house. Ben and Carrie were a close second, the two of them beaming above her swollen belly. Dr. Deseje was there, her pair boisterous and beautiful as they headed up the slide; she cracked a beer and tipped it our way as her husband selected a bottle of water with an amused shake of his head. Susan surprised me with a hug from behind, and I happily turned to embrace her.

“Hey, you, I can’t believe you came all this way… where are the kiddos?”

“Umm,” she pushed her hair back from her face and squinted at the colorful chaos around us, “two over there…” she pointed to the boy and girl swinging on the swing set, “oh! And one over there.” I followed her finger and burst out laughing at the sight of Bob in a snug grey suit with bright green sock feet, bouncing in the igloo with Sasha and Tristan at his sides.

I found Eleni in the kitchen with Diana, Russ, and Denny, and quickly shooed them all into the yard.  Emma dashed past me on course for the bathroom, wagging a finger and muttering through clenched teeth.

“I just have to pee… if anyone asks. I just _really have to pee_ …”

I was giggling to myself when I turned to see Evans flipping through the teabags in the tin in the cupboard.

“She… uh… you know,” he stuttered, bright red and rubbing the back of his neck. “When you gotta go…”

“Uh-huh,” I nodded, crossing to take the canister from his hands, digging deep and pulling out the ginger blend with a flourish. “This might help…”

The day was full of sunshine, smiles, and gales of laughter, and I floated on a tide of bliss, playing with the children, chatting with the women, watching the men scoff and sport with one another the way men do when they’re relaxed and happy, their guards truly down.

And every time I softened my posture, settled comfortably onto the balls of my feet, there was Tom. His fingers hooked through my belt loop, his hand slipping under my sweater or between my thighs, discreet, unseen touches that put me back on tiptoe and left me grinding my teeth against his rich, quiet chuckle as it warmed the nape of my neck, echoed through my brain.

Around four-thirty, I was standing at the fishing pond when Tom waved at me from across the yard, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. I nodded, scooping Jack up and balancing him on my hip.

“Everybody,” I called out, waving my hand towards the center of the yard where Emma had spread a quilt over the grass. “Everyone… if you’ll gather around… just for a minute, thanks.”

A moment later I was surrounded by an expectant crowd, and I cleared my throat as my cheeks flushed just a little.

“So,” I panted a bit, “thank you all so much for coming to celebrate this very special day,” I turned my gaze to my rosy-cheeked son, who gazed up at me with shining blue eyes, “and this very special boy.” All at once my throat was full of salt, and I hiccupped against the tears suddenly slipping down my cheeks. “No speeches,” I waved my hand at the chorus of “aww,” before thumbing the wet streaks from my face. “You all know the story. You’ve all been a part of it. Your love, your support,” I paused, swallowed hard, shivered as Jack’s little fingers twisted curiously at my collar, “it means… just… thank you.” I cut my gaze to Jen, to Emma, to my mother –in-law dabbing her own eyes with a hanky. “Thank you.”

“Present time,” Tom sang out from the gate.

I dropped to my knees to sit Jack on the blanket as all eyes turned to him; Tom crossed the yard in excited strides, then knelt down himself. The gasps and coos rose in unison when he reached inside his sweater and pulled out the pup, our little boy’s the loudest to my ears. Tom put her down on her short little legs and she bounded over to Jack, nearly knocking him over in her enthusiasm.

“Dug dug, Mummy, dug dug!” He shrieked, his fingers curling in the fur at her neck as she strained to reach him with her frantically darting tongue. “Dug dug dug dug dug dug!”

“Yes, my love, it’s a doggy,” I laughed, tousling his hair as the pup crouched, her rump wriggling in the air before she pounced his sneaker and began tugging at the laces. “That’s Jack-Jack’s doggy, happy birthday!”

“Birtday dug dug Jack Jack Dada!” he crowed, catching the dog around her neck and hugging her tight. “Eeeker dug dug Mummy Eeeker Dada oof oof oof Emmy Nana Paw Paw!”

“Well… okay!” I exclaimed through tears as our assembled guests laughed at his banter, then waved the younger guests in the crowd closer. “Come on, you guys, it’s okay, come and say hello. Be gentle with her, a turn for everyone…”

Tom helped me to my feet as the kids approached, slow and careful, reaching timid hands to stroke the puppy’s coat. I wrapped my arms around him, watching Jack babble to his audience and shivering under the kiss my husband pressed to the top of my head.

“Looks like she’s a hit!”

“Yeah,” there was gravel in Tom’s voice and I looked up, surprised to see his face suddenly pale beneath his ginger whiskers, his brow furrowed in nervous anxiety. “Looks like.”

“Sir?” I reached up to caress his jaw, my stomach tightening to knots. “What’s the matter?”

He reached around to catch my hands in his, carefully slipping from my embrace and kissing my knuckles before stepping back.

“Trust me,” he whispered before letting go. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he turned back to our visitors and blew out the air in his lungs through pursed lips.

“So… everybody? Sorry, sorry,” he smiled sheepishly, “I know. There’s a puppy and there’s cake… but if I could have just another moment of your time.” Luke appeared at his elbow, murmuring something in his ear; Tom grabbed his hand and squeezed his shoulder with a shaky grin.

Only then did I notice a large rectangular package propped against the back door, its shimmering silver paper bound in place with a violet satin cord.

“Right,” Tom continued, taking me by the arm. “So, everybody, that’s Samantha, and she’s really Jack’s present from his mum. After all,” he tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear as I side-eyed him suspiciously, “she’s the one who reminded me such decisions shouldn’t be impulsive, that we should really know what we we’re getting into before taking the plunge. If not for her,” he grinned broadly, “this place would look like RSPCA Essex.” Laughter tittered through the crowd, and he drew in another deep breath.

“So… that leaves my gift for my beautiful boy,” he spread an open hand and gestured towards the package, “but it’s just as much for my wonderful wife.”

I could feel my lip quivering as his eyes filled with tears, realizing he wasn’t just nervous, he was terrified.

“Michelle, I loved my life so much before we met. I thought I had the best of everything. And then,” he shrugged, “I met you, and realized what a daft bloody fool I was. Michelle,” he took a step towards me, took my hand in his, “my love… you are my life. You and Jack… you’re everything. Nothing in this world means anything without you. I’ve tried so hard to figure out how best to show you that’s the truth, and I think,” he glanced over at the gift, pulled me closer to it, “I think, at last, this does it.” He guided my hand to one silky tassel, smiled at me with almost desperate encouragement. “Go on, love. Open it, please.”

Trembling, I gave the rope a tug, my breath catching in my throat as the knot gave easily.

The wrapping fell away to reveal a large, vibrant photograph framed in rich, glossy mahogany. The brown brick structure looked vaguely familiar, reminded me of the dilapidated building not far from RADA’s main campus. But this place had clearly been recently renovated, spit-polished and shined, and I’d never seen the marquee, the tall black letters reading τυχερός trimmed in green and gold. 

 "This…” I gestured blankly at the picture, smiling weakly in my confusion, “it’s a lovely picture, Sir…”

“It’s not the picture, little one,” he wiped a shaking hand over his beard, “look closer, darling, please.”

I tilted my head before turning back, trying to take in more detail. At the center of the entry stood a multi-windowed box office, along the sidewalk, the walls were dressed with empty poster windows. The doors propped open offered a peek of velvet ropes stretching into the shadows.

“It’s beautiful,” I offered with a shake of my head, “but I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“It’s mine, Michelle,” he breathed, his barely-there voice heavy with childish hope.  “It’s _ours_.”

“Ours,” I repeated dumbly as, slowly, snippets of conversations over the past few months fluttered to the front of my brain. “Theater business,” I tasted the words.

“Theater business,” he repeated, nodding. “A new chapter for us, little one. Here. In London.” He reached out and took my hands as tears disappeared into his whiskers. “No more leaving you for weeks on end, no more missing things as Jack grows. Home every morning, home every night, traveling together for fun instead of business.” He paused, gulped in a mouthful of air. “Michael’s found three backers already… the RADA alum organizations are all on board… I’ve already heard from agencies asking about audition opportunities and crew positions!” He lifted my fingers to his lips, his gingery scruff tickling my skin. “Please say it’s all right, Michelle, please. Say it’s okay.”

“Okay?” I hiccupped, tightening my grip on him and dragging him into my embrace. “Okay… my God, Tom,” I sobbed through a smile, “it’s _so much better_ than okay!”

I’d forgotten we had an audience until that moment, when they started applauding and whistling in supportive excitement. The smile was audible in Jack’s crow of “Mummy Dada! Mummy Dada!” and Samantha’s yipping bark chorused along behind. That was all background noise, though, harmonizing with the pounding of Tom’s heart and the rushing of my own blood in my ears. His arms tightened around me and I felt my feet leave the ground as he lifted me with an elated chuckle.

“Thank you, Michelle, thank you, thank you…”

“No!” My head snapped up and I took his face in my hands, relishing the silky scratch of his beard against my palms. “Tom… Sir… thank you.” My cheeks ached from smiling and my vision trebled behind tears. “You’re _mine_ , Tom… _ours_. Mine and Jack’s… ours, really, really ours.”

“Little one,” he pressed his forehead to mine as Diana carried our son up the few patio steps to join us, as Samantha scampered up as well to catch the hem of my jeans between her teeth and tug, “I always have been.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> τυχερός - Greek, tycheros, meaning "lucky one"


End file.
